“Oh tell me, some one, if you will
Am I awake or dreaming still?”
|SO cried Bobby Coon to no one in particular, because no one was there
to hear him. Bobby was in a dreadful state of mind. He couldn't tell
for the life of him whether he was awake, or asleep and dreaming, and I
cannot think of a much worse state of mind than that, can you?
There was that dreadful dream Bobby had had, the dream of the dreadful
giant who had chased him into a hollow log and then beat on that log
with a great club, frightening Bobby almost to death, filling his ears
with a terrible roaring sound that made his head ache, and sending cold
shivers all over him. Bobby was trying to make up his mind to rush out
of that hollow log in spite of the dreadful giant, all in his dream you
know, when suddenly his eyes flew open and there he was safe in his bed
in the hollow chestnut tree which he called his own.
Bobby gave a happy little sigh of relief, it seemed so good to find that
dreadful experience only a dream. “Phew!” he exclaimed. “That was a bad,
bad dream!” And then right on top of that he gave a little squeal of
fear. There was that awful pounding again! Was he still dreaming? Was
he awake? For the life of him Bobby couldn't tell. There was that same
dreadful pounding he had heard in the hollow log, but he wasn't in the
hollow log; he was safe at home in his own warm bed. Had he somehow
reached home without knowing it, in the strange way that things are done
in dreams, and had the dreadful giant followed him? That must be it. It
must be that he was still dreaming. He wished that he would wake up.
Bobby closed his eyes as tightly as he knew how for a few minutes.
Pound, pound, pound, sounded the dreadful blows. Then he opened his
eyes. Surely this was his hollow tree, and certainly he felt very much
awake. There was the sunlight peeping in at his doorway high overhead.
Yet still those dreadful blows sounded--pound, pound, pound. His head
ached still, harder than ever. And with every blow he jumped, and a cold
shiver ran over him from the roots of his tail to the tip of his nose.
Never in all his life had Bobby known such a mixed-up feeling. “Is this
I or isn't it I?” he whimpered. “Am I dreaming and think I'm awake, or
am I awake and still dreaming'? I know what I'll do; I'll bite my tail,
and if I feel it I'll know that I must be awake.” So Bobby took the
tip of his tail in his mouth and bit it gently. Then he wondered if he
really did feel it or just seemed to feel it. So he bit it again, and
this time he bit harder.
“Ouch!” cried Bobby. “That hurt. I must be awake. I'm sure I'm awake.
But if I'm awake, what dreadful thing is happening? Is there a real
giant outside pounding on my tree?”
Then Bobby noticed something else. With every blow his house seemed to
tremble. At first he thought he imagined it, but when he put his hands
against the wall, he felt it tremble. It gave him a horrid sinking
feeling inside. He was sure now that he was awake, very much awake. He
was sure, too, that something dreadful was happening to his hollow
tree, and he couldn't imagine what it could be. And what is more, he was
afraid to climb up to his doorway and look out to see.