Jem waited; and as he was very attentively observing how the workmen went on with their work, he heard somebody near him give a great yawn, and turning round, he saw stretched upon the grass, beside the river, a boy about his own age, whom he knew very well went in the village of Ashton by the name of Lazy Lawrence; a name which he most justly deserved, for he never did any thing from morning to night; he neither worked nor played, but sauntered or lounged about, restless and yawning. His father was an alehouse-keeper, and, being generally drunk, could take no care of his son; so that Lazy Lawrence grew every day worse and worse. However, some of the neighbours said that he was a good-natured, poor fellow enough, and would never do any one harm but himself; whilst others, who were wiser, often shook their heads, and told him that idleness was the root of all evil.
"What, Lawrence!" cried Jem to him, when he saw him lying upon the grass. "What! Are you asleep?"
"Not quite."
"Are you awake?"
"Not quite."
"What are you doing there?"
"Nothing."
"What are you thinking of?"
"Nothing."
"What makes you lie there?"