He was conscious of a shrill crowing, thin as a bugle, from some farm-yard out of sight; then he turned over and slept again.
When he awoke it was daylight.

He lay on his back looking at the network of twigs overhead, the beech leaves beyond, and the sky visible only in glimpses--feeling extremely awake and extremely content.

Certainly he was a little stiff when he moved, but there was a kind of interior contentment that caused that not to matter.
After a minute or two he sat up, felt about for his shoes and slipped them on.

Then he unwound the wrapping about his neck, and crept out of the shelter.
It was that strange pause before the dawn when the light has broadened so far as to extinguish the stars, and to bring out all the colors of earth into a cold deliberate kind of tint.

Everything was absolutely motionless about him as he went under the trees and came out above the wide park-land of which the copse was a sort of barrier.