“Yes, quite awake.”
“I’ll get you to light the fire this morning, my lad: one of my arms feels a little strained.”
Dale drew the canvas door aside and stepped out, while Saxe lay wondering how it was that it was quite dark one moment, when Dale was moving about, and broad daylight the next.
“I must have been asleep,” he exclaimed. “But what was he doing that he hasn’t lit the fire? How strange!”
Saxe sat up and rubbed his eyes and yawned; then leisurely slipped on the jacket and handkerchief he had taken off before lying down; and the more wakeful he grew the more puzzled he became, till a happy thought occurred to him.
“I know,” he said: “It wasn’t getting-up time. His arm hurt him in the night, and he was walking about on account of the pain. I wish I had spoken to him. Too late now. Never mind; I’ll make haste, and get him a cup of coffee.”
Saxe bustled about, and soon had the fire crackling and the coffee kettle full of fresh cold water over the bright flame.
It was daylight, but some time yet to sunrise, and the air was very cool, but Saxe hardly felt it in his busy preparations; and he was eagerly watching the kettle when Dale came back.
“Ah! that’s right, my boy,” he cried. “I shall be glad of a cup of coffee.”
“Is your arm better, sir?” said Saxe.