* * * *
“Good morning, dearie!” Mrs. Helpful’s irritating trill jarred Tip out of the fitful doze he’d finally fallen into. He felt himself being lifted and blinked his eyes open to gaze blearily into her wrinkly smile.
Tip was never at his best after a sleepless night, and after everything he’d endured lately, he felt he was entitled to a bit of a sulk. He drew his limbs and head firmly within his shell and refused to come out no matter how Mrs. Helpful tried to coax him. Maybe she’d get bored with him and take him back?
“Oh, dear. I thought you were looking peaky,” she muttered, setting him down on the bed and patting his shell absently. “What am I going to do if you’ve died? I suppose I’ll have to bury you somewhere.”
Tip’s head shot out of his shell so fast he was surprised he didn’t strain something.