GRIF AWAKENS
‘Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes,
Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose
On this afflicted prince; fall like a cloud,
In gentle showers; give nothing that is loud,
Or painful to his slumbers; easy, light,
And as a purling stream, thou son of Night,
Pass by his troubled senses; sing his pain,
Like hollow murmuring wind or silver rain;
Into this prince gently, oh, gently slide,
And kiss him into slumbers like a bride.’
――_Fletcher._
“Get down Pouncer, naughty dog!”
It was Aunt Caroline who spoke, and Pouncer jumped off the bed, though
he still continued to growl with a deep threatening note. Grif gazed
around him. The room was lit by a shaded lamp, and a fire was burning
in the grate.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “What has happened?”
“Nothing, dear. It was only Pouncer who jumped on to your bed. I was
asleep, I think, or half asleep, when I heard him growling; and then
before I could move he had sprung right up beside you. I expect he had
been dreaming, for he seemed very angry and excited, just as if he were
going to attack some one.”
“So he was,” said Grif. “There was something there――a shadow. Hasn’t
there been a shadow over there, near the door, for a long time? It is
gone now, but it was there all evening. Didn’t you see it? It was there
for hours before it got on the bed. Pouncer must have killed it, or
frightened it away.”
Aunt Caroline appeared to take his words for the lingering echoes of
the delirium through which he had passed, for she did not answer,
but only tried to soothe him. “How are you feeling, dear?” she asked
softly. “Do you think you are a little better?”
“Yes, thanks.” He tried to lift his hand, but it was strangely heavy.
“You must go to sleep again. Would you like a drink?”
“Yes, please. Haven’t I been asleep? Won’t it soon be morning?”
“No; it is just half-past twelve.”
“Then I’ve only been asleep a little while. I thought it must be Monday
morning. I’d like something to eat.”
“Monday morning is passed. This is Wednesday night. You’ve been ill for
three days.”
“Three days?” His mind was too languid to grapple with the idea, and he
let it go.
“And now you must get well quickly.”
Grif lay and listened to her as she moved quietly about the room,
preparing some food for him. He felt very weak, and yet, somehow,
happy, and he allowed Aunt Caroline to feed him just as if he were a
baby.
“Will you read to me a little?” he asked.
“What shall I read?”
“An animal story.”
“But I’m afraid I haven’t got one here.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. Pouncer!”
“Oh, you don’t want Pouncer, dear; he’s too heavy, he will only tire
you.”
“I just want him for a minute.”
Pouncer sprang on to the bed and began to snuff and snuggle his nose
into Grif’s neck. The little boy laughed and kissed a silky ear; but
Aunt Caroline would only let Pouncer stay for the prescribed minute;
then she put him down again.
“Do you really want me to read to you, Grif?”
“No, it doesn’t matter. I think I can go to sleep.”
He lay drowsily watching Aunt Caroline, while the firelight was
reflected in his dark eyes. Then the lids drooped lower and lower, and
Aunt Caroline, listening to his soft regular breathing, knew that he
was going to get better.