He dreamed the door swung softly back,
The dream-man entered in;
And spectacles were on his nose,
And bristles on his chin.
He held a great knife in his hand,
And tiptoed to the bed.
"Oh, pray don't cut! I'm not a cake,
I'm Tommy," Thomas said.
In vain to speak, for Thomas knew
He looked too brown and nice;
He saw the dream-man lift his knife
As if to cut a slice,
And then—young Thomas shrieked and woke,
And sat up straight in bed.
"Oh, dear! I'll never eat rich cake
Again at night," he said.
STORIES BY GRANDMA.
SOME TERRIBLE ADVENTURES WITH WOLVES.
"Grandma," said Ralph, "what do you suppose Uncle Henry said?"
"Well," answered grandma, "it wouldn't surprise me if he said it was a cold day, or—"
"No; I mean what do you suppose he told me; what kind of a story?"
"Oh, dear! your uncle Henry is such a hand to tell stories that I could hardly guess. About animals, I suppose, though, and nothing smaller than elephants, I'll warrant."