"I don't see what you are good for, anyway," said Marjorie, crossly. "It's queer that I can't go to bed and to sleep quietly, without a horrid old Dream like you coming to bother me."
The Dream balanced himself on the foot-board and cracked his heels together saucily. He was little and thin and brown; and he wore a tight fitting brown velvet suit, and very pointed little brown velvet slippers, and a little brown velvet cap perched jauntily on one side of his head.
"Well," he said, grinning in a most aggravating manner, "what is it that you don't like about me? Didn't I just let you walk along the ridge-pole of the house? Even your mother never lets you do that."
"Yes, and when I got to the edge of the roof you pushed me off and I kept falling, falling and falling—why I'd be falling yet if I hadn't wakened up."
The Dream giggled. He had a very unpleasant way of giggling when things were not at all funny.
