No, it was a pure accident.
Yes; good-night, papa." Then the same voice, exerting itself so as to be heard in a distant part of the house, remarks: "You've got to come upstairs again.

Pa says it isn't time yet to get up." You return to bed, and lie listening to somebody being dragged upstairs, evidently against their will.

By a thoughtful arrangement the spare rooms at "Beggarbush" are exactly underneath the nurseries.

The same somebody, you conclude, still offering the most creditable opposition, is being put back into bed.

You can follow the contest with much exactitude, because every time the body is flung down upon the spring mattress, the bedstead, just above your head, makes a sort of jump; while every time the body succeeds in struggling out again, you are aware by the thud upon the floor.