On Fessor's Bed 57 



morning when he was not at the desk 

 when I came from my hiding-place, I 

 went out into the hall in search of him. 

 Not far from the den door I found 

 another doorway, and I went through 

 it into the room. It turned out to be 

 Fessor's bedroom. He was in bed and 

 fast asleep. That is, I think he must 

 have been asleep by the noise he made, 

 for he slept out loud worse than a hum- 

 ming bee I had once heard. I gave a 

 loud, quick chirp. He didn't answer, 

 so I called several times, making my 

 voice louder and louder at each call; 

 until at last, with a stretch and a yawn, 

 he threw his arm out of the bed and 

 opened his hand for me to jump in. 

 When he lifted me up on the bed he 

 wanted to know what I meant, such 

 a raggedy, scraggedy little wretch, by 



