When Peter was left alone by his master, as recorded in a former chapter, he sat himself down in a cheerful frame of mind on the sunny side of a large rock, and gave himself up to the enjoyment of thorough repose, as well mental as physical. The poor lad was in that state of extreme lassitude which renders absolute and motionless rest delightful. Extended at full length on a springy couch of heath, with his eyes peeping dreamily through the half-closed lids at the magnificent prospect of mountains and glens that lay before him, and below him too, so that he felt like a bird in mid-air, looking down upon the world, with his right arm under his meek head, and both pillowed on the plaid, with his countenance exposed to the full blaze of the sun, and with his recent lunch commencing to operate on the system, so as to render exhaustion no longer a pain, but a pleasure, Peter lay on that knoll, high up the mountain-side, in close proximity to the clouds, dreaming and thinking about nothing; that is to say, about everything or anything in an imbecile sort of way: in other words, wandering in his mind disjointedly over the varied regions of memory and imagination; too tired to originate an idea; too indifferent to resist one when it arose; too weak to follow it out; and utterly indifferent as to whether his mind did follow it out, or cut it short off in the middle. We speak of Peter's mind as a totally distinct and separate thing from himself. It had taken the bit in its teeth and run away. He cared no more for it than he did for the nose on his face, which was, at that time, as red as a carrot, by reason of the sun shining full on its tip. But why attempt to describe Peter's thoughts? Here they are--such as they were--for the reader to make what he can out of them. "Heigh ho! comfortable now--jolly--what a place! How I hate mountains-- climbing them--dreadful!--Like 'em to lie on, though--sun, I like your jolly red-hot face--Sunday! wonder if's got to do with sun--p'raps-- twinkle, twinkle, little sun, how I wonder--oh, what fun!--won't I have sich wonderful tales--tales--tails--stories are tails--stick 'em on the end of puppy-dogs, and see how they'd look--two or three two-legged puppies in the office--what a difference now!--no ink-bottles, no smashings, no quills, plenty of geese, though, and grouse and hares-- what was I thinking about? Oh, yes--the office--no scribbles--no stools, no desks, No-vember--dear me, that's funny! No-vember--what's a vember? Cut him in two can't join him again--no--no--snore!" At this point Peter's thoughts went out altogether in sleep, leaving the happy youth in peaceful oblivion. He started suddenly after an hour's nap, under the impression that he was tumbling over a precipice.