e, which gave it a jaunty and rakish air.
'Humph!' said Willy. 'Well, I'm glad the ugly old thing is gone. Now I
shall not have to go to bed at all.'

[Illustration]

"That was all very well for an hour or so, but after that the little boy
began to grow very sleepy in spite of himself. He rubbed his eyes, he
yawned, he tried to shake himself broad awake, but it was of no use. For
some time longer he fought against the sleepiness, but at last he went
to his mother, looking very much ashamed, and said:

"'Please, mamma, I want to go to bed!' 'I am very sorry, Willy,' said
his mother; 'but you have no bed to go to. You have driven away your
good bed by ill-treatment, and now you must sit up all night.'

"Poor little Willy! he tried to go to sleep in a chair, but his head
kept tumbling backward or forward and waking him. Oh! he was wretchedly
uncomfortable, and finally he burst into tears. 'Oh! my dear bed!' cried
he. 'My nice, soft, warm, pretty bed! why did I ever treat you so badly?
oh! dear good bed, if you will only come back to me, I will never,
_never_ call you names again. Oh! oh! oh! how tired I am, and cold,
and--' but suddenly he stopped crying, for he thought he heard a noise
outside. He listened. Yes, through the open window came a faint
sound--thump! thump! thump! Willy flew to the window. Oh joy! there was
the bed, stumping back up the street on its fluted yellow legs. Back it
came, in at the window and across the room, till it stood in its
accustomed place. In about three minutes Willy's head was on the pillow,
and I believe he has never called his bed names since."

"Why! bless me!" said Uncle Jack, looking down. "Here is Downy asleep
too. Let us go upstairs and see if his bed is there all right. I hope it
did not hear what he said about it, for you see they are sensitive
fellows, these beds. Now then, up we go! I will carry Downy, Mrs.
Posset, and do you bring Puff and Fluff with you, for it is high time
that they were in bed too."

Well, Uncle Jack is a very wise man in most things, but I should have
thought he would have known better than to try the cat-stairs for the
first time at night, with a candle in one hand, and a child in his arms.
At the first step he bumped his own head; at the second he bumped the
child's head; at the third he bumped the candle, and put it out, so
there he was in the dark. A sad plight he would have been in if it had
not been for my beams; but two or three of the boldest