Billy didn't know how long he had been sleeping when he was awakened by a loud galloping.

"Who in the world can be riding through the forest so fast and furiously at this time of the night?" he exclaimed to himself. "I hope it's no one after me. I want to go to sleep."

"Thunder—col-lop—col-lop—col-lop," came the hoof beats nearer and nearer, "clop—clop, clop—clap—clap," and the gallop had changed into a trot. Nearer and yet nearer came the sound.

"It's coming here sure enough. I must get up and meet him, whoever he is," but when Billy tried to move he found himself bound hand and foot.

"Well, this is a fine how-de-do," he said, after vain attempts to release himself.

"How-de-do," said a little voice in his ear.

"Who are you?" asked Billy, in surprise.

"I'd really like to tell you, but if I did, you'd know, you know." So saying, a little figure jumped up on Billy's chest and sat there with his face all screwed up as if he were making fun.

"Who are you laughing at?" asked Billy.

"Oh! what a good spring board you make," said the little man, jumping up and down on Billy's chest. And the rubber suit did make a fine jumping place for him.

"I asked you a question," said Billy, indignantly.

"That's not my fault."

"Aren't you going to answer me?"

"Give it up; try me with another," said the little man.

"Another what?" asked Billy.

"Another question of course, and if I can't answer that you owe me two forfeits—by the way how many does that make?"

"What?"

"Two forfeits—does it make eight feet or four fore feet?"

"I don't know, I'm all mixed up," said Billy, "how many?"

"Well, seven times two makes twenty-four, doesn't it?"

"Yes—no-no—of course not; it makes fourteen."

"How can I expect you to understand if you know how to figure? Well, well, here's Night Mare after all—I thought she was never coming."

And sure enough up galloped a great night mare. Now some people say that Night Mare looks just exactly like a horse, but Billy knows better, for he saw this one very, very plainly. Her body was made of a long hard bolster, her legs of the four posts of a bedstead, her neck was a pillow, her head a piano stool, her eyes were two night lamps, and her tail was mosquito netting.

"Here's Billy Bounce," called a chorus of voices from her back, and down scrambled a cabbage, a carrot, a plum pudding, a mince pie, a welch rabbit, a pot of jam, and goodness knows how many other things that little boys should not eat.

"Is Gammon there?" called a voice.

"Yes: is that Spinach?" answered the little man on Billy's chest. "Come on, I've got Billy Bounce tied down tight and we can make a splendid spring board of him."

"But where do I come in?" asked the Night Mare plaintively; "aren't you going to let me have a little horse play?"

"Certainly," said Gammon, "when we're through you can take a little ride on Billy—and be sure you ride him so hard that he can never get to Never Was and Bogie Man."

"By the manes of my ancestors I'll do that," said the Night Mare. "I'll put him to the rack, never fear."

"Then tie yourself to the Singing Tree while the rest of us are playing."

"I don't want to be tied," said the Night Mare sulkily.

"Now do as you're told," said Gammon. "Suppose you should run away from yourself and leave yourself behind, how would you ever get home?"

"Well, if I must I must," said the Mare, wiping an oil tear from her eye.

"Come on everyone," called Gammon.

"But wait a minute," said Billy. "Who are you? You look like good things to eat."

"Who are we? We're bad things to eat," and joining hands in a circle about Billy they began to dance and sing.

THE SONG OF THE DREAM FOOD SPRITES.

And as they sang "Fill the tummy of one small boy," they dropped hands, formed a long line, and one by one leaped on to Billy's stomach, bounded into the air, turned a double somersault and landed, laughing and shouting, on the ground on the other side, for all the world like acrobats in the circus.

"Please let me try," said Night Mare. "I promise not to run away."

"Oh! no, no, no," cried Billy. "Night Mare will kill me."

"That's a good idea," said Gammon; "shall we?"

"Not yet," answered Spinach; "I want to have some more fun before that happens."

"So do we all," cried the others.

"Oh! pshaw," said Night Mare, "you never let me have any fun—I don't know why I brought you here."

"Why we brought you, you mean," said Gammon. "If it wasn't for us you'd stay in your stall all night."

"Excuse me—I forgot," said Night Mare humbly.

"Well, don't be ungrateful, that's all," said Spinach severely. "Some people never know when they're badly off."

Gammon had perched himself again on Billy's chest.

"Why don't you get up and go to Bogie Man?" he laughed, trying to poke his fingers in Billy's eye.

"I can't, I'm tied," said Billy.

"Time and tide wait for no man," said Gammon; "of course you're not time but you're tied."

"I don't see why everybody tries to keep me from seeing Bogie Man," said Billy.

"Because you want to see him," said Gammon.

"That's no reason," said Billy.

"Certainly not—there's no reason about any of us, most of all Bogie Man. You know the old proverb says—

'He that will not when he may Will live to fight another day.'

I suppose you would say there was no reason to that."

"I certainly should," said Billy.

"And there you are wrong," answered Gammon; "there is a reason for all things, only some things have lost their reason."

"Now you've contradicted yourself," said Billy; "you just said that there was no reason about any of you."

"I have a perfect right to contradict myself—it's only rude to contradict other people."

"But which is correct?"

"Both."

"How can they both be correct?"

"I don't know, but they are—but my, my, we're wasting time—we've got to dispose of you before morning."

"Why before morning?" asked Billy. "I'm in no hurry."

"You never are," said Gammon. "Night Mare, are you ready for your ride?"

"Yes, I will have to start now if I am to have any kind of a canter before the cock crows."

"Good!" whispered Billy to himself. "I wonder if I can still crow. It's worth trying, anyway—Cock-a-doodle-do!" And snap, the Night Mare, had broken her hitching-strap and was off in a jiffy with Gammon and Spinach and all the other dream sprites running pell-mell after her as fast as they could go.

Billy shook himself; sat up, to prove that he was no longer tied down; lay back, rolled over, and in a minute was sound asleep.

When Billy woke up the next morning he felt stiff and sore from being tied down so long by Gammon, and very heavy about the eyes from his lack of sleep.

"I don't feel very hungry this morning, Singing Tree," he said; "I think I'll save my appetite for to-night. May I have some eggs?"

No sooner said than done—

sang the Singing Tree, and held out a bowl of nine steaming hot eggs.

"She is a very good hen, isn't she?" said Billy, "and I suppose, under the circumstances, she must consider me a gentleman, even if I do sometimes forget to brush the cow-lick on the crown of my head. M-m, how good!"

He broke three nice eggs into the cup the tree held out to him, dropped a delicious lump of butter into the cup, shook in a little pepper and a little salt, and sat down on the ground to enjoy his breakfast.

"Give the hen back her eggs, and as they are cooked," he said, laughing, "maybe if she sits on them she will hatch out a chicken fricassee for dinner."

And he went to work with a light heart. He had just gotten down to the last mouthful when a little speck of pepper that had flown into his nose when he seasoned his eggs made him sneeze.

"Gehsundheit!" and there stood the little German Count who had been so powerless to help him in Eggs Aggeration.

"Eggs again, isn't it?" said Gehsundheit.

"That's so," said Billy. "How do you do?"

"Vell, I haf been resting mineself since I saved your life in dot Egg City."

"Saved my life—I'd like to know——"

"Vat," said Gehsundheit, "you mean to say dat I did not save it?"

"Indeed I do," said Billy warmly.

"Ach, de ungratitude of boys—and after Mr. Gas thanked me so kindly for vat I did for you."

"Well, what did you do?"

"Did I not lend you a pocket handkerchief?"

"Yes, but that didn't save my life."

"Of course you say it did not, but it did."

"How?" asked Billy.

"You used it to gag the jailer—iss it not?"

"Certainly not; I didn't gag him."

"Dat is not my fault; you could have gagged him with it, could you not?"

"Perhaps," said Billy, "but I didn't think of that."

"Ach, so, vat did I tell you—am I to be plamed because you did not think of it?" said Gehsundheit.

"But you didn't suggest it—you didn't think of it yourself."

"Perhaps not at the time—but I thought of it afterwards and said—so I haf saved his life. Now can you say I did not?"

"I think I'd rather not say," said Billy.

"As you vish—but here," and Gehsundheit struck an attitude and pointed to his heart, "here I haf de satisfaction of knowing dat I am a brave hero and a great magician."

"Well, if you're pleased," said Billy, "that's something."

"You are right," said Gehsundheit, bowing low; "to be pleased vit oneself iss enough. But I accept your apology."

"What apology?"

"When you said Gehsundheit, you are a brave hero. Mr. Gas shall know how pleased you are with me."

Billy looked hard at Gehsundheit to see if he was joking, but he looked so seriously well pleased with himself that Billy did not have the heart to argue further.

"And what do you want now?" said Gehsundheit

"Nothing," said Billy.

"You shall haf it at once," said Gehsundheit. "It iss a hard task you ask of me, but you shall haf it."

"But I said nothing," said Billy.

"Exactly—but fear not——" and spinning around on one toe, waving his arms above his head and ending by kissing his fingers, Gehsundheit rolled up his sleeves and said, "You vill notice dat I haf no cuffs to deceive you—and yet de hand is quicker as de eye—mumbo, Jumbo, zip, boom, rah—it iss here." And reaching out he caught a handful of air, gravely handed it to Billy and disappeared.