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Updated: June 4, 2025
When, in the morning, Young Isham came to his door with the first light, the boy found his master already up and partly dressed. Rand stood by the window looking out at the pink sky. "A bad night, Young Isham," he said, without turning. "Sleep's a commodity that has somehow run short with me. Are the horses ready?" "Yaas, marster." "Have you had your breakfast?" "Yaas, marster."
I do hope we shall be pervented from takin' cold temptin' Providence the way we have, at our time o' life. Nate, he won't stir no more to-night. He's too tuckered out an' too well fed. Sleep's the best medicine for him, so we'll shut up quiet like an' start. But where in the world'll you get clothes, as you said?
And then came the thought that the insensible boy at her feet, escaping for a little while through sleep's primeval sanctity, was part of the robbed world also. Who had lost more than he by his unreason? If her heart did not melt then, it grew softer. But there was more to learn before she left him and the truth can be recorded. Abel had killed his father and hastened to his lair exultant.
"I reckoned I'd find you 'sleep," were the sheriff's first words, when Zack had gone. "Oh, I sleep some in the evenin's. Sleep's mostly for women, anyhow." "I wouldn't be s'prised if a leetle wa'n't fer men, now an' then," Jess grinned. "You can't lay out watchin' his cabin till daylight, as you've been doin', an' set around with these heah books all day.
For love of her, my heart and entrails are a-fire And sicknesses consume my body and my spright. The sweet of pleasant food's forbidden unto me, And eke I am denied the taste of sleep's delight. Solace and fortitude have taken flight from me, And love and longing lodge with me, both day and night. How shall my life be sweet to me, while she's afar, That is my life, my wish, the apple of my sight?
Sleep's better for you than all the doctor's stuff." "Who?" repeated Susan. "Something is wrong. Who?" "Oh, dear!" said the woman. "There's nothing wrong. Willie has taken the turn, and is doing nicely." "Father?" "Well! he's all right now," she answered, looking another way, as if seeking for something. "Then it's Michael! Oh, me! oh, me!"
"Best thing he can do. Sleep's a fine thing, and it seems the best thing in the world when you've got the watch and your eyelids keep on sticking together and making you feel as if you must break up a couple of sticks to turn into props. Now come and have some breakfast, my lad. I want mine. Eh? what do you say? We're sailing up?" "Yes; we're going fast."
Smooth would have taken him for a man whose mind was of a mechanical turn; for at times he would become dreamy, his eyes would close within leaden lids, and his body seem prone to cool away into sleep's gentlest embrace.
'Mother is still asleep. 'Still, my dear, returned the locksmith in the same tone. 'You talk as if she had been asleep all night, instead of little more than half an hour. But I'm very thankful. Sleep's a blessing no doubt about it. The last few words he muttered to himself. 'How cruel of you to keep us up so late this morning, and never tell us where you were, or send us word! said the girl.
We praise the Life of Work, Who from sleep's lonely dark Leads forth his children to arise and stand, Then go their way, The live-long day, To trust and labour in the land. We praise the Life of Good, Who breaks sin's lazy mood, Toilsomely ploughing up the fruitless sand. The furrowed waste They leave, and haste Home, home, to till their Father's land.
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