Then my ponderings were interrupted by the coming of a couple more of the Indians, who examined our fastenings and then went back.
“Mass’ George ’leep?” said Pomp suddenly, in a low voice.
“Asleep? No. Who could go to sleep like this?”
“No, not nice go ’leep ’tanning up,” said Pomp, coolly; and there was a long pause, with the monotonous talking of the Indians still going on.
All at once one of the Indians who had last examined our bonds came back, peeping about him inquiringly, examining our ropes, and looking about our feet for some minutes before going back, carefully scanning the ground and bushes as he went, and after a good deal of hesitation reseating himself.
By this time I was utterly wearied out, and hung forward from the rope with my head upon my chest, gazing down hopelessly at the thick moss and other growth at our feet.
“Mass’ George ’leep?” whispered Pomp again.
“No, no,” I said, sadly; “I could not sleep at a time like this.”
“’Cause Mass’ George no go to sleep.”
I looked at him despondently, and saw that he was amusing himself by picking the moss and leaves with his toes, getting a tuft together, snatching it off, and dropping it again, almost as cleverly as a monkey would have done the same thing.