He shut the open eye to enjoy it thoroughly, and forgot the stretch altogether, for the bed was warm, the pillow soft, and a half-finished dream still hung about his drowsy brain.

Who does not know the fatal charm of that stolen moment--for once yield to it, and one is lost.
Jack was miles away "in the twinkling of a bedpost," and the pleasing dream seemed about to return, when a ruthless hand tore off the clothes, swept him out of bed, and he really did awake to find himself standing in the middle of his bath-pan with both windows open, and Frank about to pour a pail of water over him.
"Hold on! Yah, how cold the water is! Why, I thought I _was_ up;" and, hopping out, Jack rubbed his eyes and looked about with such a genuine surprise that Frank put down the pail, feeling that the deluge would not be needed this time.
"You are now, and I'll see that you keep so," he said, as he stripped the bed and carried off the pillows.
"I don't care.

What a jolly day!" and Jack took a little promenade to finish the rousing process.
"You'd better hurry up, or you won't get your chores done before breakfast.

No time for a 'go as you please' now," said Frank; and both boys laughed, for it was an old joke of theirs, and rather funny.
Going up to bed one night expecting to find Jack asleep, Frank discovered him tramping round and round the room airily attired in a towel, and so dizzy with his brisk revolutions that as his brother looked he tumbled over and lay panting like a fallen gladiator.
"What on earth are you about ?" "Playing Rowell.

Walking for the belt, and I've got it too," laughed Jack, pointing to an old gilt chandelier chain hanging on the bedpost.
"You little noodle, you'd better revolve into bed before you lose your head entirely.