“Ya—aw—aw—awn!” the mild, flabby, dreamy man was yawning, slowly, sonorously, solemnly.
Kitty stretched out her arms and yawned.
“Ya—aw—awn,” echoed all around. Yawns were everywhere—in the stream, in the trees, in the flowers—everything was yawning except the guardian child, who pulled at Kitty’s hair and whispered more and more eagerly in her ear:
“Do not put off any longer. No Christmas blessing if you put off.”
“Put off! put off! put off!” drowsily whispered the air around Kitty.
“I am coming!” said Kitty; but she did not stir. She blinked away the yawn-tears that smarted her eyes. “Oh, dear!” she yawningly sighed, “I should never get to my journey’s end if I remained here long.”
“Dream that you have reached the journey’s end,” said the mild man. “Day-dreams are the only reality. Day-dream lessons are lovely. School-room lessons are always wrong, but day-dream lessons are always right. No mistakes anywhere, no blots anywhere—fine flourishes to all the letters—all the pride of school-room lessons well done—and no trouble.”
“Lovely day-dream lessons!” drowsily murmured the sprite, curling itself up in a little sleepy heap.
“Lovely day-dream lessons!” murmured everything around.
“Lo—v—vely—day-dr—” began Kitty, her head nodding.