Hello everyone, this is Rhea with a quick note. This is a preview of an episode exclusive to Little Stories Premium. Little Stories Premium gives you more of the stories you love, an ad-free listening experience, and access to Little Stories for Sleep, an exclusive bedtime podcast featuring brand new sleepy stories, perfect for that last track on a bedtime playlist. Subscribe or purchase a gift subscription by visiting littlestoriespremium.com. Now, on to the show. This is Rhea. Welcome to Little Stories for Tiny People. You know, I almost couldn't record today due to a book emergency. You see, last week I lent a book to my neighbor, an opossum named Sven. And I believe I made it clear that the book needed to be kept inside the treehouse at all times. Well, Sven might be an advanced reader, but he's not the best listener. He returned the book this morning completely waterlogged. Apparently, he left it outside during a sun shower. And it's not just any book. It's on the history of airplanes of a paper variety. So obviously, I was distraught. I spent the better part of the morning drying each page, walking back and forth in front of my oscillating fan. As you can imagine, I was so absorbed in this task that I nearly forgot to tell you a story. In fact, I've completely forgotten what the story is about. Let me just see here. What? Well, that's odd, because it seems our story is also about a book emergency. Hmm, let's hear it. It's called Little Hedgehog and the Book Emergency. Take it away, Charlotte. Remember, there are no pictures. You'll have to imagine the pictures in your mind. You can imagine them however you want. Okay, here we go. It was a late summer night. Outside, a group of frogs were meeting for their weekly choir practice. Inside, Mr. Hedgehog was deep in the middle of something for work. He sat at the small desk, in the small office, in his small underground burrow, in the great forest, his brow furrowed in concentration, when there came a knock at his office door. He didn't ignore it. He didn't even hear it. Sometimes, when you are absorbed in a task, there could be a woodpecker pecking at your own head, and you would not even notice. Dad? Mr. Hedgehog. Mr. Hedgehog eased back in his swivel chair and stared at the door. Behind it, he knew, was his prickly daughter, Little Hedgehog, and her best friend, Beebee, who tended to be wherever she was at any given minute. I'm in the middle of something, unless it's an emergency. Oh, it is, Dad. The biggest emergency. Actually, two emergencies. A double emergency, Dad. The situation is dire, Mr. Hedgehog. Unless Beebee's arm is falling off or something, then... It very nearly is, Dad. It is metaphorically dangling, Mr. Hedgehog. Mr. Hedgehog opened the door. In the hallway stood Little Hedgehog, eyes enormous, smiling, prickle to prickle, paws clasped together in anxious anticipation. Beside her, Beebee stood, eyes mid-sized, smiling shyly. Neither of her arms appeared injured, metaphorically or otherwise. Dad, something shocking has happened. You will never believe it, Mr. Hedgehog. Try me. Little Hedgehog and Beebee exchanged a solemn look, then a sharp nod. Beebee withdrew a large book from the shadow beneath her prickles and thrust it into the light. Beebee forgot to return a library book. I forgot to return a library book, Mr. Hedgehog. Mr. Hedgehog studied them. Meantime, Little Hedgehog and Beebee were breathless. Dad, Beebee has never not returned a library book before. Typically, I return library books in just three days. I am a certified speed reader, able to take in an entire page in a single glance. I was trained by my third cousin, Gerson, who is one of the premier Hedgehog speed readers in the world. He can read a page in not just a glance, but a glance in his periphery. He can hold the book up to the side of his head and still retain information caught only out of the corner of his eye. I have not yet mastered that, Mr. Hedgehog, but give me time. However, my time is up with this particular book. Beebee added, helpfully holding up the book in his direct line of sight. Mr. Hedgehog put a paw to his chin prickles. We must return it to the school library. Immediately! This book is six weeks, three days, and 46 minutes overdue, Mr. Hedgehog. That fact brings an ache to the very marrow of my bones. That seems a tad dramatic, Mr. Hedgehog said. School starts in three nights. Just return it then. Mr. Hedgehog, I shan't sleep a wink till the book is safely returned. Uh-huh. Dad, if we don't return this over to library book tonight, it might fall into… At this, the two friends exchanged a wide-eyed look. The Land of Lost Library Books! It's located right next to the Land of Lost Socks. The two friends giggled. Beebee, why didn't you return the book on time at the end of the school year? Funny you should ask that, Mr. Hedgehog, as it is an interesting story. Typically, I leave all library books in a visible spot on the tea table. However, a week and a half prior to the last night of school, my mother announced that my aunt Floris and uncle Florian would be dropping in for an impromptu visit. They are known to be extremely tidy, Mr. Hedgehog. My mother flew into a veritable cleaning whirlwind and I was swept up in its gale-force gusts. Uh-huh. In a rare moment of absent-mindedness as I neatened the living room, I moved every book, including this library book, onto the bookshelf, where it blended in with my mother's books on wilderness survival and my own books on wilderness survival. What is that library book about, Beebee? Little Hedgehog asked, her eyes dancing with books. Arctic Wilderness Survival. I see. Mr. Hedgehog glanced briefly at the work on his desk. Ironically, when my aunt and uncle arrived, they insisted on having tea outdoors. Uncle Florian said it was, quote, too nice out to waste the night underground. And if we are plucked up by owls, then so be it. So the cleaning frenzy was all for naught. Did I hear you say there were two emergencies? Oh yes, Dad. That is correct, Mr. Hedgehog. In addition to the first dire emergency involving a shockingly overdue library book that must be returned immediately lest I never sleep again, there is another deeply pressing book-related situation that I must deal with in haste. Haste, Dad. I'm listening. Every summer, our school encourages students to participate in a summer reading program by offering prizes and accolades. Okay, I always read far beyond the target number of books, but I never accept any prizes because the joy of reading is itself a prize more valuable than gold-encrusted crickets. I agree that reading is its own prize, but sometimes they give out fun stickers. Little Hedgehog said, her eyes twinkling. Okay, this year our school came up with a new Ultimate Summer Reading Challenge, which Ms. Swindletooth, our school's activity director, announced at the end of the school year. Indeed, Ms. Swindletooth, a rabbit of unusual size with particularly substantial front teeth and ears, had announced the new program over the intercom with one of her original songs. A candle burning, pages turning, so much learning to do. Summer reading, hearts abeating, words eloping, across the page. It was one of her longer songs, so we'll just skip to the important part. 50 books, listen up you've got to read 50 books, and not just any. No, not just any 50 books you wish, but 50 nifty books on our Ultimate Summer Challenge Reading List. 50 books. Thank you, Ms. Swindletooth, for that inspiring announcement. Students, if you read all 50 pre-selected books on our Summer Challenge Reading List, you'll get to have lunch with me, Principal Petrie Dish. It will no doubt be a decent meal, accompanied by polite conversation, and the occasional chuckle. Most of the students stared blankly up at the intercom, but Beebe's eyes lit up. She'd immediately obtained the Summer Challenge Reading List and went about acquiring the necessary titles. Mr. Hedgehog, she said presently, there is just a single book on the list I have been unable to obtain. It has been out of stock at all forest libraries and bookshops. I have checked the inventory on a weekly basis. Beebe has read 49 books, Dad. Wow, yes, Mr. Hedgehog, but I only have three nights left to find the 50th book. The title is A Whistle in the Wilderness, the true story of a whistle pig's journey to a mountaintop and beyond. Hmm, that sounds familiar. I wonder why? Little Hedgehog said, staring at the ceiling, Mr. Hedgehog, it is possible that by traveling to the school library this evening, we can resolve both of my book-related emergencies at once. We can hit two crickets with one pinecone, Dad. Right. I will be able to return this disastrously overdue book, and on the off chance the librarian is there, I may be able to obtain the final book to complete the 50 book Summer Reading Challenge. Please, can I go with Beebe? Can I, Dad, please? My mother has pre-approved this errand, Mr. Hedgehog. Mr. Hedgehog scratched his chin. What if the librarian is not there? After all, it's still summer break. There is a drop box on the exterior of the school building. We can simply deposit snow way out. Brilliant strategies for surviving the Arctic into it. Mr. Hedgehog glanced at the pile of important work on his desk. He imagined the beautiful silence that would follow their departure from the borough. It was not a difficult decision. There was just one problem. Little Hedgehog, Dad said, narrowing his eyes. Did you finish cleaning your room? Little Hedgehog's cheerful smile became ever so slightly less cheerful. I promise I will have everything cleaned up by the first night of school just like you said. You only have three more nights, and last I saw there were still piles everywhere. Dad, those are my collections. Like the jumble of toothbrushes I happened to step on the other day while looking for my measuring tape. Which, by the way, you may not use without asking. I was making a dinner jacket for little guy. I had to measure the arms. The rule stands. I'm sorry, Dad. I won't do it again. Little Hedgehog said solemnly, then smiled. And those were not just any toothbrushes that you stepped on. Those were antique toothbrushes. Mr. Hedgehog, judging by their level of wear and tear, it is possible those toothbrushes were handed down through many generations of hedgehogs. Beebee added helpfully. Those antique toothbrushes could be worth millions of crickets. I can't just toss them into the forest. It would be tantamount to throwing away perfectly good clogs, like the ones made by my Aunt Gulinda, who is known for her wood crafts. Mr. Hedgehog looked from his tiny daughter to her best friend. The room has to be completely clean before the first night of school. Yes, Dad. I will assist Mr. Hedgehog. Any and all collections have to be stored neatly in containers in the closet. Yes, Dad. Understood. I don't know how you keep track of anything in that room. There's probably all kinds of things hidden under those piles. The two young friends waited with expectant smiles. Their eyes twinkled. All right, you can go. Stick to the trail. Yay! Yay. Yay. The third yay came from little guy, little hedgehog's pet chameleon, who was perched on her shoulder prickles. He had observed this entire interaction with a mild level of interest befitting a lizard. Off they went into the forest. There is so much more to this story. 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