I don't know but I _might_ as well come down." "I wonder," muttered Gypsy, drowsily, just as Joy had begun in very thrilling words to request Oliver Cromwell to have mercy on her, and was about preparing to jump out of the cocoa-nut shell into Niagara Falls, "I wonder what makes people think it's a joke to lie awake." "I don't believe they do," said Joy, with a tinge in her voice of something that, to say the least, was not hilarious.
"Yes they do," persisted Gypsy; "all the girls in novels lie awake all night and cry when their lovers go to Europe, and they have a real nice time.

Only it's most always moonlight, and they talk out loud.

I always thought when I got large enough to have a lover, I'd try it." Joy dropped into another dream, and, though not of interest to the public, it was a very charming dream, and she felt decidedly cross, when, at the end of another unknown period Gypsy woke her up with a pinch.
"Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!" "What are you merry Christmassing for?
That's no fair.

It isn't morning yet.

Let me alone." "Yes, it is morning too.