He resumed his watch and kept it up until daylight. He scarcely heard a sound from below, except an occasional slight sigh, or motion from the old woman, who, like all aged persons, was a very light sleeper. When morning dawned, David heard his grandmother rise and open the windows. Then he called down the stairs once more: “Granny——” “Ay, lad.” “Can I help you now?” “Ay, lad, put on ’ee clothes and come down.” David had not taken off his clothes, and therefore had not to put them on. He instantly descended the narrow stairs and stood before his grandmother. “I never knew ’ee to dress so quick, lad,” she said. “That was because I was not undressed. What can I do first, granny?” “Ay, indeed! ’Ee’s been sitting up all night! It was a useless loss of rest, Davie, but well meant. Take ’eeself off now to the shed and bring in some wood, lad.” The young man went out to do her bidding, and soon returned with an armful of brown hickory logs, which he laid upon the fire. Then he took the tea-kettle out and filled it from the cistern and brought it back and hung it over the blaze. Every movement of the old woman and the young man was made quietly and noiselessly, so as not to disturb the calm sleeper, who as yet gave no signs of waking. “Now, lad, I’ll leave ’ee here to watch the kettle. Take it off as soon as it boils, and don’t forget to turn the johnny cake,” said Dame Lindsay, as she took her fresh sweet pail and went out to milk the cow, a duty she would never allow David to do for her. Indeed, the act of setting a man or boy to milk would have shocked her ideas of the fitness of things. She would have thought it an insult to the cow. When she had closed the door behind her, David Lindsay gave a glance to the fireplace, to see that all was right there, and then he went on tiptoe to the side of the bed and gazed reverently on “the sleeping beauty.” The quilt that had been hung in front to shield her eyes from the ruddy blaze of the fire on the previous night, when repose was so necessary to her shattered nervous system, was now removed to give her more air; for the time had come when it would be well for her to awake. The bed had been straightened into perfect order and the white counterpane drawn up, so that only the lovely face, laying with its right cheek on the pillow, and forehead towards the front of the bed, was visible. The golden hair had been drawn away from the nape of the neck and carried up over the pillow, where it lay a shining mass of curls. A very pathetic face it was, with the tender eyes half shut, the sweet lips half closed. Her sleep looked like the “deep deliciousness of death”; though had it been really that, it might have been said with equal truth that it looked like the sweetest sleep.