A MYSTERY.
Reading edition
BY CLARA LOUISE ANGEL.
I know of a dry little, sly little man Who comes o'er our threshold whenever he can; Though little, he cares for the sunshine and light; He haunts our big library when it is night. When papa is reading his paper with care, And I'm dozing all snug in the cushioned arm-chair, When mamma looks up from her sewing—"My dear, Perhaps you don't know that the sand-man's been here." Then I hunt round the curtain, on top of the books, 'Neath table and sofa, and all sorts of nooks, And out on the stairway, and down in the hall; But I can't find the sly little sand-man at all!