ied to get out
he couldn't find the edge; he couldn't find it--he--he--couldn't get out!
It was dreadful!

He whimpered in his sleep. The bed had begun to go round too; it was
outside him and inside him; going round and round, and getting fiery, and
Mother Lee out of Cast up by the Sea was stirring it! Oh! so horrible
she looked! Faster and faster!--till he and the bed and Mother Lee and
the moon and the cat were all one wheel going round and round and up and
up--awful--awful--awful!

He shrieked.

A voice saying: "Darling, darling!" got through the wheel, and he awoke,
standing on his bed, with his eyes wide open.

There was his mother, with her hair like Guinevere's, and, clutching her,
he buried his face in it.

"Oh! oh!"

"It's all right, treasure. You're awake now. There! There! It's
nothing!"

But little Jon continued to say: "Oh! oh!"

Her voice went on, velvety in his ear:

"It was the moonlight, sweetheart, coming on your face."

Little Jon burbled into her nightgown

"You said it was beautiful. Oh!"

"Not to sleep in, Jon. Who let it in? Did you draw the curtains?"

"I wanted to see the time; I--I looked out, I--I heard you playing, Mum;
I--I ate my macaroon." But he was growing slowly comforted; and the
instinct to excuse his fear revived within him.

"Mother Lee went round in me and got all fiery," he mumbled.

"Well, Jon, what can you expect if you eat macaroons after you've gone to
bed?"

"Only one, Mum; it made the music ever so more beautiful. I was waiting
for you--I nearly thought it was to-morrow."

"My ducky, it's only just eleven now."

Little Jon was silent, rubbing his nose on her neck.

"Mum, is Daddy in your room?"

"Not to-night."

"Can I come?"

"If you wish, my precious."

Half himself again, little Jon drew back.

"You look different, Mum; ever so younger."

"It's my hair, darling."

Little Jon laid hold of it, thick, dark gold, with a few silver threads.

"I like it," he said: "I like you best of all like this."

Taking her hand, he had begun dragging her towards the door. He shut it
as they passed, with a sigh of relief.

"Which side of the bed do you like, Mum?"

"The left side."

"All right."

Wasting no time, giving her no chance to change her mind, little Jon got
into the bed, which seemed much softer than his own. He heaved another
sigh, screwed his head into the pillow and lay examining the battle of
chariots and swords and s