Title page art
Illustrated by Rhoda C. Chase
Harper & Brothers, Publishers
SANDMAN'S GOOD-NIGHT STORIES
Copyright, 1921, by Harper & Brothers
To My Sister
MARY P. BABCOCK
I Lovingly Dedicate
These Little Stories
as a story she heard," began Sylvia, in explanation.
"About somebody being suffocated in Paris by the top of the bed coming down," continued Ralph.
"It was robbers that wanted to steal his money," added Molly.
Grandmother began to look less mystified. "Oh, that old story!" she said. "But how did you hear it? I remember it when I was a little girl; it really happened to a friend of my grandfather's, and afterwards I came across it in a little book about dogs. 'Fidelity of dogs,' was the name of it, I think. The dog saved the traveller's life by dragging him out of the bed."
"Yes," said aunty, "I remember that book too. It was among your old child's books, mother. A queer little musty brown volume, and I remember how the story frightened me."
"There now!" said Molly triumphantly. "You see it frightened aunty too. So I'm not such a baby after all."
"Yes, you are," said Ralph. "People might be frightened without making such a fuss. Molly declared she would rather not go to Paris at all. That's what I call being babyish—it isn't the feeling frightened that's babyish—for people might feel frightened and still be brave, mightn't they, grandmother?"
"Certainly, my boy. That is what moral courage means."
"Oh!" said Molly, as if a new idea had dawned upon her. "I see. Then it doesn't matter if I am frightened if I don't tell any one."
"Not exactly that," said grandmother. "I would like you all to be strong and sensible, and to have good nerves, which it would take a good deal to startle, as well as to have what certainly is best of all, plenty of moral courage."
"And if Molly is frightened, she certainly couldn't help telling," said Sylvia, laughing. "She does so pinch whoever is next her."
"There was nothing about a dog in the story of the bed we heard," said Molly. "It was in a book that a boy at school lent Ralph. I wouldn't ever be frightened if I had Fusser, I don't think. I do so wish I had asked papa to let him come with us—just in case, you know, of the beds having anything funny about them: it would be so comfortable to have Fusser."
At this they all laughed, and aunty promised that if Molly felt dissatisfied with the appearance of her bed, she would exchange with her. And not long after, Sylvia and Molly began to look so sleepy, in spite of their protestations that the dustman's cart was nowhere near their door, that aunty insisted they must be mistaken, she had heard his warning bell ringing some minutes ago. So the two little sisters came round to say good-night.
"Good night, grandmother dear," said Molly, in a voice which tried hard to be brisk as usual through the sleepiness.
Grandmother laid her hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes. Molly had nice eyes when you looked at them closely: they were honest and candid, though of too pale a blue to show at first sight the expression they really contained. Just now too, they were blinking and winking a little. Still grandmother must have been able to read in them what she wanted, for her face looked satisfied when she withdrew her gaze.
"So I am really to be 'grandmother dear,' to you, my dear funny little girl?" she said.
"Of course, grandmother dear. Really, really I mean," said Molly, laughing at herself. "Do you see it in my eyes?"
"Yes, I think I do. You have nice honest eyes, my little girl."
Molly flushed a little with pleasure. "I thought they were rather ugly. Ralph calls them 'cats',' and 'boiled gooseberries,'" she said. "Anyway Sylvia's are much prettier. She has such nice long eyelashes."
"Sylvia's are very sweet," said grandmother, kissing her in turn, "and we won't make comparisons. Both pairs of eyes will do very well my darlings, if always
'The light within them,
Tender is and true.'
Now good night, and God bless my little grand-daughters. Ralph, you'll sit up with me a little longer, won't you?"
"What nice funny things grandmother says, doesn't she, Sylvia?" said Molly, as they were undressing.
"She says nice things," said Sylvia, "I don't know about they're being funny. You call everything funny, Molly."
"Except you when you're going to bed, for then you're very often rather cross," said Molly.
But as she was only in fun, Sylvia took it in good part, and, after kissing each other good night, both little sisters fell asleep without loss of time.
