“Well, Mother,” answered Sunny slowly, “I don’t feel sleepy—I don’t suppose I could go ’less I took a nap?”
“No, indeed,” answered Mother. “No nap means you go to bed at a quarter of seven as usual.”
“All right,” agreed Sunny Boy, with a long breath. “I’ll go and take a nap.”
He went into his room very much like a soldier going to war. We’re sorry to say he kicked off his shoes—one of them went flying across the pretty room and landed on a chair and the other went under the bed. Then, dressed as he was, Sunny flung himself on the bed.
“Can’t go to sleep right in the day-time,” he grumbled to himself. “I’ll bet Ralph doesn’t take naps.”
But Sunny Boy didn’t know that plenty of salt air and an ocean bath and much running about on a sandy beach can make a small boy sleepy even against his will; in the middle of a big yawn, Sunny went to sleep.
When he woke, he heard his mother moving about in the next room. He felt hot and uncomfortable, the way one feels, you know, when the eyes first open after a nap. When you’re a baby you cry, but when you are older, if you don’t watch out, you’re cross. Sunny Boy felt cross.
“Hello!” his mother lifted the door curtain and smiled at him. “I heard you turn over, dear. Supper will be ready in a few minutes.”
Sunny Boy sat up in bed.
“Supper!” he echoed. “Why, Mother, is it night?”