Mindy liked to help her mother. After her sisters and brothers left for school, Mindy and Mother made their beds.
First they made Mindy’s bed. They pulled the sheet and blankets back and put the pillow on a chair. Then they billowed the sheet and blankets over the bed.
Mindy patted the places where ripples appeared. And she helped pull the covers tight. She punched and plumped her pillow into a marshmallow shape. Then she plunked it over the folded-down sheet and bedspread.
Quickly Mindy and Mother slid the bedspread over the pillow and ironed any wrinkles flat with their hands.
Then they made Mother and Dad’s bed the way they had made Mindy’s bed. It was so big and bouncy that Mindy wished she could jump on the bed.
One morning just after they had lifted Mindy’s bedcovers into place, Mother hurried into the kitchen to answer the telephone. When she came back, she couldn’t see Mindy. But she did see an enormous mountainy wrinkle in the covers.
“Oh, oh,” said Mother, pretending to be surprised. “I see a great big wrinkle. I’d better smooth it out.” So she patted the wrinkle, and it twitched.
“My, my,” said Mother, “this wrinkle is hard to get out. I’ll have to poke it a little bit.” So she poked the big wrinkle with her finger, and it began to giggle and wriggle.
“Goodness, gracious,” said Mother playfully, “this wrinkle giggles and wriggles. I guess I’ll have to see what’s under the blankets.” So she threw the covers back. There was Mindy, laughing and kicking her legs and flapping her arms in the middle of the bed.
“Oh, Mommy, I fooled you,” laughed Mindy.
“So you were the wrinkle in the blankets!” exclaimed Mother in mock surprise.
“Now, Mommy, I’ll help you make my bed without a single wrinkle,” said Mindy, scrambling out of bed.