Still Janet gave no sign of being awake. At last, however, the intruder reached the gas, and struck a light. Janet peeped at her from between nearly closed lids, saw her tear a sticky mass from one hand, and others from each foot, then, picking her way across the room, avoiding the bits of fly-paper laid in her way, she reached the bed, gave a spring and alighted fairly upon Janet.
"Here," she cried, "wake up. You must be one of the Seven Sleepers. Where is the key to the door?"
Janet opened her eyes drowsily, stretched her arms, and said, "Get off my chest, nightmare. I ate no mince-pie last night."
The girl snickered, but immediately assumed a severe manner. "Get up and get me that key," she said.
"What for?" asked Janet.
"So I can get out."
"I don't care whether you get out or not," returned Janet, "so long as you get off—my chest."
The girl perched there sat looking about the room. She was a tiny thing, with fluffy light hair about her elfish little face. "What's the sticky stuff all about here for?" she asked.
"Oh," replied Janet, "it's to catch flies—and things."
The girl drew down her mouth. "I'll not have you alluding to me as a thing, you Miss Fresh. Get up and get me that key, or I'll find a way to make you."