Agnes had been as busy as anybody in bringing down from a certain closet devoted to that purpose old finery, and other things which belonged to days long gone by, and her anticipations of pleasure for the evening were raised to the highest pitch.  But just when all were assembled in the darkened parlor, the lights all being arranged behind the curtain so as to fall upon the pictures, Master Lewie, who was up beyond his usual bed time, and who was hardly old enough to take much interest in what was going on, declared that he was sleepy, and would go to bed.  Neither Mammy nor Anne were with them at Brook Farm; and as Mrs. Elwyn seemed as much interested as any one in seeing the tableaux, Agnes knew what the result would be, if Lewie insisted upon going to bed; so she endeavored to amuse him and keep him awake till she had seen at least one tableau.

“Oh, Lewie, wait one moment!” said she; “Lewie will see a beautiful picture.”

“Lewie don’t want to see pictures; Lewie wants to go to bed.  Sister, come! sing to Lewie.”

“In one moment, then, little brother.  Let Agnes see one picture.  Won’t you let sister see one picture?”

“No; Lewie must go to bed.  Mamma, tell sister to come with Lewie.”

The result was, of course, in accordance with Master Lewie’s wishes, and Agnes was directed to take him up to bed.  “He will very soon be asleep,” her mother added, “and then you can come down.”

This Master Lewie heard, and it put quite a new idea into his head, it never having occurred to him before that the person who sang him to sleep left him alone, after her task was accomplished.  That was a thing he was not going to submit to, and he was so determined to watch Agnes, lest she should slip away from him, that all sleep seemed to have deserted his eyes, which were wider open, and more bright and wide awake, than ever.

Agnes laid down beside him, and, patting him gently on the cheek, she sang in a sleepy sort of way, hoping the tone of her voice would have a somniferous effect.

“Sing louder!” shouted Master Lewie.

Agnes obeyed, and sang many nursery songs suggested by Master Lewie, hoping, at the end of each one, that there would be some signs of drowsiness manifested on the part of the little tyrant; but the moment it was finished, brightly and quickly he would speak up: 

“Sing that over again!—­sing another!—­sing ’Old Woman!’—­sing ’Jack Horner,’” &c., &c.

And Agnes’ heart died within her as question upon question would follow each other in quick succession, suggested by the lively imagination of Master Lewie, as to the name and parentage of “the little boy who lived by himself;” and the childless condition of the man whose “old wife wasn’t at home;” and where the dogs actually did take the “wheel-barrow, wife and all;” he feeling perfectly satisfied of the accurate information of Agnes on all these important topics.