Henry knew by the sunlight that the rain had passed and that a warm clear day was at hand. He inferred, too, that nothing had happened while he slept, and rising he drank at the stream, after which he bathed his face, and resumed his buckskin clothing which had dried.
"Good sleep," said Paul.
"Fine," said Henry.
"You showed great judgment in choosing your inn."
"I knew that I would find here friends, a bed, water, food and a roof."
"Everything, in fact, except fire."
"Which we can do without for a while."
"But I would say that the special pride of the inn is the roof. Certainly no rain seems to have got through it last night."
"It's fifteen or twenty feet thick, and you will notice that the ceiling has been sculptured by a great artist."
Henry had seen it before, but he observed it more closely now, with all its molded ridges and convolutions.