THE BEDTIME STORY-BOOK
There's something very, very queer
About a story-book,
No matter what's the time of year,
Nor where you chance to look;
No matter when it is begun,
How many pages read,
The very best of all the fun
Comes just the time for bed,
When mother whispers in your ear:
"'Tis almost eight—just look!
Now finish up your chapter, dear,
And put away your book."
The minutes almost seem to race
When it is growing late;
The very most exciting place
Is just half after eight.
