“Here is the water, Professor,” she said, coming forward with a pitcher and glass upon a small tray. “I have drawn some fresh for you.” But her words seemed wasted upon the man before her, who was apparently deaf and blind to all external influences. “Why, can it be he’s asleep?” she continued, under her breath. “Ah, I hardly think—he’d be so severe as that. I am—much—interested—much in—the dark,” muttered Russell. “I’m—m—m—” His chin dropped, his eyes closed, and he sank back heavily in his chair. Tibby arose and approached him with cat-like tread, looking at him eagerly. She waved her hand before his face. “Yes, you’re asleep fast enough!” she said exultantly. The man began to breathe with the measured rhythm of deep sleep. “Mrs. Cramer, you are free from that man’s influence,” Tibby continued, with a long sigh of conscious relief. “I was so afraid I could not get him under control, as he might be on his guard. But you distracted his attention, Mrs. Wylie, and then I got him. He was warm and tired from walking, and a heavy dinner too, probably. Did I do the baby act well? He probably thought I was the personification of rustic innocence and did not fear me. Ah, you’re asleep now, old fellow, and cannot awaken until I give you permission. I can see Donald Bartram coming,” she continued, looking out of the door. She waited for him to come up, standing upon the step of the cabin, a picture of animated life. “For once, Mr. Bartram, you are on hand when you are wanted.” And she courtesied to him mockingly. “For once? Rather say, always,” he replied with assurance. “But what is it now? Whew!” as he caught sight of the slumbering man. “Can you ask? Don’t you see it is a sleeping beauty; and as he’s liable to wait until the Millenium for the princess to come to awaken him, or a thousand years, more or less, suppose we bury him.” Donald looked from the face of the laughing girl to the sleeping man, in amazement. “I put him to sleep,” she vouchsafed. “By all that’s good, if old Russell hasn’t met his match!” he whispered. “O, you needn’t whisper, he won’t waken; and it isn’t a lucifer-match, so don’t look surprised, but please suggest to me what to do with him.” “It’s Tibby that has put him there,” said Mrs. Wylie. “She has mesmerized the creature. Ugh! I hope there is no danger of his wakening.” “Not until I waken him,” said Tibby. “Then suppose you wait until Gabriel sounds his trumpet,” Donald suggested. “Mr. Bartram, I am bad enough, but you are positively wicked! To think of punishing poor Mrs. Cramer by having such a clod as this left around to look at.” “Miss Waring, if the man is in a hypnotic sleep, any suggestion you may make to him, he will act upon. Why not use him as he has Esther McCleary? Make an exhibition of him.” “What, make him dance? I might try. Wouldn’t it be fun? We should have a larger audience, though. I wonder if I can. Oh, what a joke it will be!”