"Ho!" jeered Jimmieboy. "I don't believe it." "Well, it's so, whether you believe it or not," said the picture. "The boy's name was Bob, and he lived somewhere, I don't remember where. His mother told him to stand still and he wouldn't; he just jumped up and down, and up and down all the time." "That may be, but I don't see how he could shake a whole town to pieces," said Jimmieboy, "unless he was a very heavy boy." "He didn't weigh a bit more than you do," answered the picture. "He was heavy enough when he jumped to shake his nursery though, and the nursery was heavy enough to shake the house, and the house was heavy enough to shake the lot, and the lot was heavy enough to shake the street, and the street shook the whole town, and when the town shook, everybody thought there was an earthquake, and they all moved away, and took the name of the town with them, which is why I don't know where it was." Jimmieboy was silent. He never knew before that not standing still could result in such an awful happening. "I know another boy, too, who lived in--well, I won't say where, but he lived there. He broke a fine big mirror in his father's parlor by not standing still when he was told to." "Did he shake it down?" asked Jimmieboy. "No, indeed, he didn't," returned the picture. "He just stood in front of it and got so movey that the mirror couldn't keep up with him, but it tried to do it so hard that it shook itself to pieces. But that wasn't anything like as bad as what happened to Jumping Sam. He was the worst I ever knew. He never would keep still, and it all happened and he never could unhappen it, so that it's still so to this very day." "But you haven't told me what happened yet," said Jimmieboy, very much interested in Jumping Sam. "Well, I will tell you," said the picture, gravely. "And this is it. The story is a poem, Jimmieboy, and it's called: "THE HORRID FATE OF JUMPING SAM. "Small Sammy was as fine a lad As ever you did see; But one bad habit Sammy had, A Jumper bold was he. And, oh! his fate was very sad, As it was told to me. "He never, never, would stand still In school or on the street; He'd squirm if he were well or ill, If on his back or feet. He'd wriggle on the window-sill, He'd waggle in his seat. "And so it happened one fine day, When all alone was he, He got to jumping in a way That was a sight to see. He leaped two feet at first, they say, And then he made it three. "Then four, and five, the long day through, Until he could not stop. Each jump he jumped much longer grew, Until he gave a hop Up in the air a mile or two, A-twirling like a top. "He turned about and tried to jump Back to his father's door, But landed by the village pump, Some twenty miles or more Beyond it, and an awful bump He'd got when it was o'er.