"Can't you let a body sleep in peace?" asked Kit in an injured tone, the sound coming from vasty deeps of bedclothes.
Joe declared they always had to fish him out of bed, and that buckwheat cakes was the best bait that could be used.
"Why, it's Christmas. Hurrah! We're going to have a jolly time. What do you suppose is in your stocking?"
That roused Kit. He came out of bed on his head, and commenced putting his foot through his jacket sleeve.
"I can't find my stockings! Who's got 'em?"
"The fellow who gets up first always takes the best clothes," said Joe solemnly.
With that he made a dive into his. It was the funniest thing in the world to see Joe dress. His clothes always seemed joined together in some curious fashion; for he flung his arms and legs into them at one bound.
"Oh, dear! Don't look in my stocking, Joe. You might wait. I know you've hidden away my shoe on purpose."
With this Kit sat in the middle of the floor like a heap of rains, and began to cry.