He had brought him back to her, and now he must sleep. How warm and comfortable it was in the bunk. He did not know a man could be so sleepy.
What was it the girl was singing as he passed her window only a few nights ago—when he paused in the darkness of the clearing to listen?
Dreamily the words floated through his brain:
"And the women are weeping and wringing their hands
For those who will never come back to the town."
But he had come back. He smiled vaguely; they needn't wring their hands and weep—and the rest of it:
"For men must work, and women must weep,
And the sooner it's over the sooner to sleep,
And good-by to the bar and its moaning."
Sleep! That's what he needed—sleep. He could sleep forever and ever, here in his warm, warm bunk. And the moaning of the bar—he liked that; he could hear it moaning now—roaring and moaning.