Saxe lay still listening. He was very sleepy, and now, as he came to the conclusion that it must be close upon daybreak, and Dale had risen to light the fire and make coffee so that they might start for the ravine as early as possible, he determined to lie perfectly still and feign sleep till the last minute, and a sharp summons bade him rise.
It is that last bit of snooze which is so enjoyable. One goes to bed because it is time, and after a good deal of waiting sometimes one goes to sleep; but it is not the delicious, easy-going sleep of the last half-hour in the morning—a sleep so enticing to most people: at all events, boys feel as if they would barter all the rest of the night for that half-hour—the last before rising.
The rustling went on, and Dale went out, only to come in again.
“How stupid it is getting up so soon!” said Saxe to himself. “It’s all very well when you’ve to cross a pass before the snow melts; but to be always getting up when it is cold and dark, and sitting down shivering to your breakfast, when you might be quite warm in the sunshine if you started at decent time, is so absurd.”
He lay thinking.
“He doesn’t seem to have lit the fire yet, for I can’t hear it crackling,” he said to himself after a time. “Perhaps he’ll rouse me up directly to light it. Bother the old fire! I hate lighting fires. Oh, it does make me feel so cross to be roused up when one hasn’t had enough. I haven’t half done. I could go on sleeping for hours, and enjoy it, and get up all the better for it, and be stronger and more ready to climb afterwards. No wonder I feel a bit tired sometimes!”
Saxe had no difficulty about lying still, for every limb seemed to be fast asleep. It was only his head that felt as if he was awake, and that only half.
The moving went on; but no fire crackled, and he was not roused up.
“What can he be doing?” thought Saxe sleepily. “I don’t know. It must be packing up for our start. Let’s see, when will Melchior be back? This morning, I suppose. Wish he was here now to light the fire. He’s so used to it—he does it so well; and then, he always makes such delicious coffee, that I enjoy my breakfast far better than when we make it ourselves, or Mr Dale makes it, and— Yes, all right!”
“’Wake, Saxe? Sure?”