Meanwhile Joe busied himself with lighting a fire. When it was burning freely, he took the kettle and filled it from the little stream that flowed through the church-yard.
“Now, Marse Lyon, in about ten minutes I will set you down to as good a breakfast, almost, as you could have got at home,” said Joe, as he raised three cross-sticks over the fire, and hung the kettle over the blaze, gipsy fashion.
While Joe was at work, Mr. Berners went into the church to look after Sybil.
She was still sleeping the heavy sleep of utter mental and bodily prostration. For a few minutes he stood contemplating her with an expression of countenance full of love and pity, and then after adjusting the covering over her, and collecting together the brands of the expiring fire to light up again, he left the church.
On going outside, he found that Joe had spread a cloth and arranged a rude sort of picnic breakfast upon the ground.
“The coffee is ready, Marse Lyon; but how about the Missis?” inquired the man, as he stirred down the grounds from the top of the pot.
“She is still sleeping, and must not be disturbed,” answered Mr. Berners.
“Well, Marse Lyon, I reckon as how you can relish a cup of coffee as well as she; so please to let me wait on you, sir.”
Mr. Berners thanked Joe, and threw himself down upon the ground, and made such a breakfast as a hungry man can make, even under the most deplorable circumstances.
“Now you know, sir, when the Missus wakes up, be it longer or shorter, I can make fresh coffee for her in ten minutes,” said Joe, cheerfully.