Sherman was the slowest of all the snails in Scotland.
He was never in a hurry. Heíd crawl along at his own slow pace, not
worrying about how long it took to get somewhere. One morning Sherman
decided that he wanted to go and visit his friend, Shelley. He began to
crawl along the dirt path. Tall blades of dew-covered grass lined the
path. Each drop of dew sparkled in the morning sunlight. Sherman looked at
his reflection in some of the drops as he brushed against them. Some fell
onto his shell and rolled down into his face, but he didnít mind at all.
"Hurry up, Sherman!" called Wendy, the worm, from
behind him. "Youíre in my way!" She bumped right into him and tried to
push him out of the way as she inched along.
Sherman smiled at her and said, "Good morning, Wendy.
Isnít it a nice day?"
"It was until you got in my way," she angrily answered,
then continued on her journey.
Sherman kept crawling along. Soon he passed through a
patch of tiny violets. "I love the color purple," he said as he crept
slowly through them, enjoying the scent of each and every flower. He
breathed deeply and smiled.
"Hurry up, Sherman!" shouted Perry, the potato bug,
from behind him. "Iím in a hurry! Canít you see that?" Sherman was taking
up the whole width of the path. Perry couldnít get past. "Sherman, if you
donít hurry up, Iíll have to crawl over the top of you."
Sherman ignored him and continued to smell the violets.
Perry moved his little legs quickly and crawled onto Shermanís shell. He
curled up into a ball and rolled down, over Shermanís neck and between his
antennas to the ground. "Good morning, Perry. Isnít it a nice day,"
Sherman said. Perry didnít even answer. He uncurled himself and hurried
Sherman crawled along and came upon some moss-covered
rocks. He loved how the soft, emerald green moss felt on his clammy, moist
skin. It protected his shell from scraping on the hard rock. Just then he
heard, "Hurry up, Sherman! Youíre in my way." He turned his head slightly
and saw Sawyer, the spider. He was holding up four of his eight long,
spindly legs, trying to crawl over Sherman, who was just too big. "If you
donít move, Iíll have to climb over the rock and then Iíll be tired. Hurry
up and move," he demanded.
Sherman wasnít in a hurry. He was enjoying the moss.
Sawyer got so angry because Sherman wouldnít move out of his way, that he
jumped over him and stopped right in front of his face. He said, "Why
donít you go faster? Youíre always in the way."
Sherman smiled and said to the spider, "Good morning,
Sawyer. Isnít it a nice day?"
Sawyer shook his head and ran off over the rocks.
After heíd followed the path out of the rocks, Sherman
found himself going through a patch of clover. It was in full bloom and
bees were humming as they flew from one puffy, pink flower ball to the
other. Sherman smiled as he made his way slowly through it. His antenna
stuck up over the top of the clover, getting into Bernadette, the beeís
way. "Hurry up, Sherman! Get out of my way. Youíre antenna keep bumping
into me and knocking the pollen off my legs," she grumpily told him.
Sherman looked up at the hovering bee. "Good morning,
Bernadette. Isnít it a nice day?"
Bernadette said, "Oh, never mind," and flew off to
another patch of fragrant clover.
Sherman smiled and moved along, even slower than
before. Eventually he came to a fallen tree trunk that was hollow. He
climbed into it then crawled along inside. There were a few ants coming
from the opposite direction carrying bits of leaves and small blades of
grass. They couldnít get past Sherman. "Hurry up, Sherman!" one of the
ants called out. "Get our of our way. Weíre taking these leaves to our
Sherman looked down at the tiny ants carrying the
leaves that seemed to be much bigger than the ants were. "Good morning
ants. Isnít it a nice day?"
"Well, weíll never find out, will we? You wonít hurry
up so weíll never get out of this log," another ant said rudely.
Sherman smiled at them and continued through the log.
The ants had to lay flat against the side of the log until he went past.
His antenna knocked some of the leaves out of their arms. The ants were
very angry with Sherman, but he just went merrily on his way.
Soon he arrived at his friend, Shelley, the slugís
home. Shelley lived on the side of a flowerpot. It held bright red
geraniums, which were growing in some deep brown earth. "Good morning,
Shelley. Isnít it a nice day?"
Shelley slowly moved down the side of the flowerpot to
where Sherman, the snail, stood. "Come on, Sherman. Stay a while. You
donít have to hurry off, do you?" he asked.
Sherman just smiled, and then said, "No, Shelley, I
donít have to hurry!"