"That's so," said Jimmieboy. "I never thought of it that way. I might sit on your lap if I couldn't keep warm any other way, eh?" "I've got a better way than that," said the Stove, dancing a little jig on the tiles. "I'll get you a pair of gas gloves, some gas ear-tabs, a patent nose furnace, an overcoat lined with gas-jets that can be lit so as to keep you warm without burning you, and leggings, shoes, hats, and everything you need to make you feel as happy and warm as a poached egg on toast." "That'll be splendid," said Jimmieboy. "I'll go, and we'll fix Jack so that he won't bite any of our people any more, eh?" "Yes," said the Gas Stove, delighted at the prospect. "Shall we muzzle him?" asked Jimmieboy. But the Gas Stove only winked, for just then mamma came up stairs from dinner, and as it was Jimmieboy's nurse's night out, his mamma undressed the little fellow, and put him in his crib, where he shortly dropped off to sleep. [Illustration: THE GAS-STOVE TAPPED HIM LIGHTLY ON THE SHOULDER.] In a little while everybody in the house had gone to bed, and when the last light had been extinguished the door of the room in which Jimmieboy slept was slowly opened, and the Gas Stove, all his lights turned down so that nobody could see him in the darkness, tip-toed in, and climbing upon the side of Jimmieboy's crib tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "All ready?" he said, in a low whisper. "Yes," answered Jimmieboy, softly, as he arose and got down on the floor. "How do we go? Down the stairs?" "No," replied the Gas Stove. "We'll take the toy balloon up the chimney." Which they at once proceeded to do. XIV. IN WHICH JIMMIEBOY AND THE GAS STOVE MAKE A START. "Now jump into the sleigh just as quickly as you can, Jimmieboy," said the Stove, as they issued forth into the cold night air. "Put on that fur cap and the overcoat, shoes, and gloves, and I'll light 'em up." "They won't burn, for sure?" queried Jimmieboy, nervously, for the idea of wearing clothes heated by gas was a little bit terrifying. "Not a bit," said the Stove in reply. "I wouldn't give 'em to you if they would. Thanks," he added, turning and throwing a ten-cent piece to a gas boy, who handed him the reins by which the horses were controlled. "We'll be back about sunrise." "Very well," said the boy. "Do you want me turned on all night, sir?" "No," answered the Stove. "Gas is expensive these days. You can turn yourself out right away. Have you fed the horses?" "Yes, sir," said the boy. "They've each had four thousand feet by the meter for supper." "Fuel or illuminating?" queried the Stove. "Illuminating," replied the boy. "Good," said the Stove. "That ought to make them bright. Good-by. Get up!" With this the horses made a spring forward--fiery steeds in very truth, their outlines in jets, each burning a small flame, standing out like lines of stars in the sky. [Illustration: "THIS IS PRETTY FINE, EH?" SAID THE GAS-STOVE.]