"Count on us," said the Pencil. "What do you do first?" "I don't exactly know," said Jimmieboy. "But I rather think I take Pencil in my hand, Pad in my lap, and fall asleep." "All right," said the Pad, lying flat on his back. "I'm ready." "So am I," put in the Pencil, settling down between two of Jimmieboy's fingers. "All aboard for sleep," said Jimmieboy, with a smile, and then he fell into a doze. In about two minutes he opened his eyes again, and found both Pad and Pencil in a great state of excitement. "Did I write anything?" asked Jimmieboy, in an excited whisper. "Yes," said the Pad. "You just covered me up with a senseless mass of words. This isn't any fun." "No," said the Pencil. "It's all nonsense. Just see here what you've got." [Illustration: JIMMIEBOY FINDS NOTHING BUT DREAM-WRITING ON THE PAD.] Jimmieboy looked anxiously at the Pad, and this is what he saw: I seen since, memory's wrong, They both dressed couple walked And straightway change upstairs with me, "I think it's "If that's the case," catch the early in." to leave the shop, for it's pla Polypop. two weeks yesterday." haven't uttered Oh, Polypop, I ersnee, "See here, He didn't pay moon was shining bright. To see the Polypop came down "Dear me!" he said. "Why, that doesn't mean anything, does it?" "No. There isn't much in dream poetry, I guess," said the Pad. "I'm going back home. Good-by." "Oh, don't go," said the Pencil. "Let's try it again--just once more. Eh?" "Very well," returned the Pad, good-naturedly, tearing off one of his leaves. "Go ahead, Jimmieboy." And Jimmieboy dozed off again. "Wake up, wake up!" cried the Pencil in about three minutes. "We've got something this time." But they were all disappointed, for, when they looked, all that they could see was this: have not them And if my not were in chintz; With that the along; your vest." For you to go Replied best, the Snickersnee, And tra I hadn't time "My reason in; "I know it," said the Since You one small cheer, say, Then quoth the Snick his fee. And as the Snickersnee, The one night, "Rubbish!" said the Pad, indignantly. "There's two leaves of myself wasted now on your old dream poetry. I think that's enough. I'm off. Good-by." "Don't be hasty, Pad," retorted the Pencil. "That's a great deal better than the other. Why, there's one part there with all the lines beginning with capitals, and when that happens it's generally a sign that there's poetry around."