"I never thought of the chest," remarked Samuel. "The boy is right. At his age one sleeps anywhere. With plenty of warm covering he will pass the night there almost as comfortably as in his own bed. It all comes out for the best."
"I'll go fetch a cushion and a cloak, and fix him up as well as possible," added Bathsheba, leaving the room.
The boy sat down and huddled himself together as if unable to resist the lassitude and sleep which weighed upon him. His head sank upon his chest, and his eyes closed. But immediately peeping under his lids he saw on the table close beside him pens, ink, and several sheets of freshly written paper. It was Samuel's unfinished letter to Levi.
"I surely was inspired in asking to sleep here," murmured the boy, aside; "let me recall without forgetting anything the orders of my good god-father," he thought, as the Jew's wife returned with the makeshift bedding she had gone in search of.
"Here, dear boy," she said, "I'll put you to bed and tuck you in well from the cold."
Simulating a heavy sleep, the urchin did not stir.
"Poor creature—asleep already," said Bathsheba. "I'll have to carry him." Lifting little Rodin in her arms she placed him on the chest, while Samuel arranged the cushion under his head and covered him up with the cloak. These cares completed, Samuel and his wife turned again to the completion of the note to their cousin Levi; but his thoughts having been disarranged by the frequent interruptions, Samuel asked his wife to re-read the letter from the beginning, after which he finished it, while the young boy was seemingly sound asleep.
Bathsheba had just taken down the last of her husband's dictation when suddenly another rap resounded at the gate.
"Samuel," cried the Jewess, pale and trembling, "that time the watcher gave the alarm signal."
Samuel went to the gate, opened the wicket and asked the lookout: