"I do not want to go to bed; I will not go!" cried naughty Fred. But it was growing very late; The clock had long ago struck eight, And so mamma, impatient grown, Went off and left him there alone. But hark! Creak, creak! upon the stair; It was the sand-man walking there.

In through the door he looked, and said, "What! Frederick will not go to bed?" In vain did Frederick kick and bawl, The sand-man would not heed at all; He tumbled Fred into his sack, And off he bore him on his back; Away he went out through the door, On, on for many a mile and more.

At last the sand-man, weary grown, Sat down to rest upon a stone. Then Frederick turned himself about, And quick he whipped his jack-knife out; Ke—scritchy—scritch! He cuts a slit And softly clambers out of it. And now he runs as quick as thought, And soon a heavy stone has brought;

He softly slips it in the sack That hangs upon the sand-man's back. Says clever Fred, "He will not see He has a stone instead of me." And now the sand-man grunts and sighs, And slowly he begins to rise.

And Frederick hears him sigh, "Alack, How that boy thumps about my back!" The stupid sand-man never sees Where Frederick crouches on his knees, Behind the rock, till out of sight The old sand-man has vanished quite.

But Fred, a thankful boy is he, As home he hastens tearfully.