"I know," returned the Blank-book. "Tears are just like rain clouds. A sunny smile can drive 'em away like autumn leaves before a whirl-wind." "Or a clothes-line full of clothes before an east wind," suggested Jimmieboy. "Yes; or like buckwheat cakes before a hungry school-boy," put in the Blank-book. "Then that same poet in my dream wrote a verse about his little boy I rather liked. It went this way: "'Of rats and snails and puppy-dogs' tails Some man has said boys are made; But he who spoke to be truthful fails, If 'twas of my boy 'twas said. "'For honey, and wine, and sweet sunshine, And fruits from over the swim, And everything else that's fair and fine, Are sure to be found in him. "'His kisses are nice and sweet as spice, His smile is richer than cake-- Which, if it were known to rats and mice, The cheeses they would forsake. "'His dear little voice is soft and choice, He giggles all day with glee, And it makes my heart and soul rejoice, To think he belongs to me.'" "That's first rate," said Jimmieboy. "Only Mother Goose has something very much like it about little girls." "That was just it," returned the Blank-book. "She had been a little girl herself, and she was too proud to live. If she had been a boy instead of a girl, it would have been the boy who was made of sugar and spice and all that's nice." "Didn't your dream-poet ever write anything funny in you?" asked Jimmieboy. "I do love funny poems." "Well, I don't know whether some of the things he wrote were funny or not," returned the Blank-book, scratching his cover with a pencil he carried in a little loop at his side. "But they were queer. There was one about a small boy, named Napples, who spent all his time eating apples, till by some odd mistake he contracted an ache, and now with J. Ginger he grapples." "That's the kind," said Jimmieboy. "I think to some people who never ate a green apple, or tasted Jamaica ginger, or contracted an ache, it would be real funny. I don't laugh at it, because I know how solemn Tommy Napples must have felt. Did you ever have any more like that?" "Oh my, yes," returned the Blank-book. "Barrels full. This was another one--only I don't believe what it says is true: "A man living near Navesink, Eats nothing but thistles and zinc, With mustard and glue, And pollywog stew, Washed down with the best of blue ink.'" "That's pretty funny," said Jimmieboy. "Is it?" queried the Blank-book, with a sigh. "I'll have to take your word for it. I can't laugh, because I have nothing to say ha! ha! with, and even if I could say ha! ha! I don't suppose I'd know when to laugh, because I don't know a joke when I see one." "Really?" asked Jimmieboy, who had never supposed any one could be born so blind that he could not at least see a joke. [Illustration: "EVERYBODY LAUGHED BUT ME."]