ver
as if to obey; but there the effort ended, and he was off again, for
growing lads are hard to rouse, as many a mother knows to her sorrow.

Frank made a beginning on his own toilet, and then took a look at his
brother, for the stillness was suspicious.

"I thought so! He told me to wake him, and I guess this will do it;"
and, filling his great sponge with water, Frank stalked into the next
room and stood over the unconscious victim like a stern executioner,
glad to unite business with pleasure in this agreeable manner.

A woman would have relented and tried some milder means, for when his
broad shoulders and stout limbs were hidden, Jack looked very young and
innocent in his sleep. Even Frank paused a moment to look at the round,
rosy face, the curly eyelashes, half-open mouth, and the peaceful
expression of a dreaming baby. "I _must_ do it, or he won't be ready for
breakfast," said the Spartan brother, and down came the sponge, cold,
wet, and choky, as it was briskly rubbed to and fro regardless of every
obstacle.

"Come, I say! That's not fair! Leave me alone!" sputtered Jack, hitting
out so vigorously that the sponge flew across the room, and Frank fell
back to laugh at the indignant sufferer.

"I promised to wake you, and you believe in keeping promises, so I'm
doing my best to get you up."

"Well, you needn't pour a quart of water down a fellow's neck, and
rub his nose off, need you? I'm awake, so take your old sponge and go
along," growled Jack, with one eye open and a mighty gape.

"See that you keep so, then, or I'll come and give you another sort of a
rouser," said Frank, retiring well-pleased with his success.

"I shall have one good stretch, if I like. It is strengthening to the
muscles, and I'm as stiff as a board with all that football yesterday,"
murmured Jack, lying down for one delicious moment. He shut the open eye
to enjoy it thoroughly, and forgot the stretch altogether, for the bed
was warm, the pillow soft, and a half-finished dream still hung about
his drowsy brain. Who does not know the fatal charm of that stolen
moment--for once yield to it, and one is lost.

Jack was miles away "in the twinkling of a bedpost," and the pleasing
dream seemed about to return, when a ruthless hand tore off the clothes,
swept him out of bed, and he really did awake to find himself standing
in the middle of his bath-pan with both windows open, and Frank about to
pour a pail of water over him.

"Hold on