Soon he was fast asleep. He slept for a long time. All of a sudden he woke up.
The fire had died down and gone out. Now it was cold. His arms and legs were stiff and chilly. He wanted a pillow for his head. But there was no bed in which to curl up. There was no warm blanket and no soft mattress. There was no place to be snug and happy. The little white bed had run away. It had taken everything with it.
The little boy got up from the rug. He walked slowly upstairs to his room. It was dark. There was a big, empty place where his bed had been. The only place to sleep was on the floor. He was very unhappy.
He said, "Oh, I wish I didn't say what I did. I wish my little white bed had not run away. I wish it would come back right now. I want to put my head on its pillow and go to sleep. I'd be nice and warm. I want my little white bed!"
He put on his pajamas. He took a rug and tried to go to sleep on the floor. But he kept jumping up. He kept looking out the window. He wanted to see if his little white bed was out in the street. He wanted to tell it he was sorry.
