"A lift," I answered, "will you give a tired fellow a lift on
his way?"
"W'y--I dunno--be you a talkin' chap?"
"I don't think so," said I.
"Because, if you be a talkin' chap, I beant a-goin' to give 'ee a
lift, no'ow--not if I knows it; give a chap a lift, t' other day,
I did--took 'im up t' other side o' Sevenoaks, an' 'e talked me
up 'ill an' down 'ill, 'e did--dang me! if I could get a wink o'
sleep all the way to Tonbridge; so if you 'm a talkin' chap, you
don't get no lift wi' I."
"I am generally a very silent chap," said I; "besides, I am too
tired and sleepy to talk, even if I wished--"
"Sleepy," yawned the man, "then up you get, my chap--I'm sleepy
too--I allus am, Lord love ye! theer's nowt like sleep--up wi'
you, my chap." Forthwith, up I clambered and, laying myself down
among the fragrant hay, stretched out my tired limbs, and sighed.
Never shall I forget the delicious sense of restfulness that
stole over me as I lay there upon my back, listening to the creak
of the wheels, the deliberate hoof-strokes of the horses, muffled
in the thick dust of the road, and the gentle snore of the driver
who had promptly fallen asleep again. On we went as in borne on
air, so soft was my bed, now beneath the far-flung branches of
trees, sometimes so low that I could have touched them with my
hand, now, beneath a sky heavy with sombre masses of flying cloud
or bright with the soft radience of the moon. On I went, careless
alike of destination, of time, and of future, content to lie there
upon the hay, and rest. And so, lulled by the gentle movement, by
the sound of wheels and harness, and the whisper of the soft wind
about me, I presently fell into a most blessed sleep.