We hung up our stockings and one for Father, then hopped into bed.
Jack nestled up close and begged for a bedtime story, which I always told him. A drowsy tale which sent him to sleep, and me, too, before it was barely finished.
I really didn’t know I was asleep, but suddenly a queer sound startled me, and as I listened I heard Jack smothering a giggle.
“What is it, dear?” I whispered.
“Oh, Mother, such a funny thing! I heard the clock chain rattle, and I looked and the mouse ran up the clock, and I heard voices singing: ‘Hickory Dickory Dock.’ Now look quick!”
We both stared at the napkin over the pie, for it began to get humpy. You have played “tent” under the bedclothes, of course.
Well, there seemed a dozen somethings playing that game, for the napkin humped up here and there till presently it was lifted off and fell to the floor.
It was just like a matinée. The napkin seemed to be the curtain rolled away, then the show began.