I shook my head.
"They're a sleepy folk," I said; "they get so little rest. The day is noisy enough, but at night, what with dogs baying the moon, and the nightjars calling, when owls do cry—"
"When owls do cry—"
"—and the earnest but mistaken chanticleer, they have a rotten time. Poor echoes! And they wake very easily here."
"Don't they everywhere?"
"Oh, no! I know some that are very heavy sleepers. In fact, it's hopeless to try and wake them without the welkin."
"The welkin?"
"Yes, you make him ring, you know. They nearly always hear him. And if they don't the first time, you make him ring again."
For a little space she laughed helplessly. At last:
"I am an idiot to encourage you. Seriously," she added, "about the little play."