nd frighten it away. You
have done well, brave soldier-man, for now I am right sure she
does not wonder any more why the day should have come when the
one she had helped so much should have forgotten the help and
been thankless for all the love that she had given him.

CHAPTER III

THE WORLD'S END

Sometimes, when David was working hard on his siesta, Mother
would tell him that he was to whistle as soon as the Sand Man
came. But even that doesn't always help. You have to ask so many
times to make sure that the Sand Man _hasn't_ come, and after you
have been told repeatedly that you are not yet asleep it makes
you discouraged. You know, too, that you mustn't cheat; it's not
fair to whistle until you actually see the Sand Man.

Hardly anything is so wearing on a little boy as to wait. This is
especially true of siesta-time, when there are always such a
number of interesting things going on outside. Through the
shutter's chink the yellow sunshine comes squirting into the
room--such amazing sunshine, just as it is on circus day! Only to
think of what great events must be in progress while you and
Mother lie here together in the darkened room, and toss
hopelessly in the dreadful throes of trying to get through with
your siesta!

One of the mean things about it is that neither side of the
pillow has any cool spot. You turn it over once more and once
more, and yet once more again, but it is no use. It is utterly
impossible to cuddle down and obey orders and go to sleep like a
brave soldier-man. The more you try it the more squirmy and itchy
you feel; for at such a time one is usually fretted by the
repeated ticklings of some bothersome fly. He will sneak along
the edge of the pillow and rub his hands together in front of
him, and then he's ready. Down he swoops upon your nose, hitting
it precisely in the same place where he lit before.

It is easy for Mother to say, "Go to sleep, now," but what bad
shift a little boy will sometimes make of his siesta!

There came a day in June when David believed he never in this
world could get through with it. He heard the chuck and drowsy
clack of the sprinkling-wagon as it ponderously advanced upon its
lazy way; he heard the almost whispered clucking of a mother-hen
who was calling her chicks to come shuffle with her in the cool
loose earth under the shade of the crooked old apple-tree, and
presently there came a time when the out-of-doors was all so
still that even the