When the first glimmer of the gray dawn stole through the small window at the end of the narrow hall, and laid its chilled fingers on Harry's upturned face, it found him still asleep.

His ride to Moorlands and back--his muscles unused for months to the exercise--had tired him.

The trials of the day, too, those with his father and his Uncle George, had tired him the more--and so he had slept on as a child sleeps--as a perfectly healthy man sleeps--both mind and body drinking in the ozone of a new courage and a new hope.
With the first ray of the joyous sun riding full tilt across his face, he opened his eyes, threw off the cloak, and sprang to his feet.

For an instant he looked wonderingly about as if in doubt whether to call the watch or begin the hunt for his cattle.

Then the pine door caught his eye and the low, measured breathing of his uncle fell upon his ear, and with a quick lift of his arms, his strong hands thumping his broad chest, he stretched himself to his full height: he had work to do, and he must begin at once.
Aunt Jemima was already at her duties.