I went softly, and looked down at him. I ought to have waked him, and
rated him for sleeping at his post, but I could not. It was balm to
find him here safe. He was twisted like a kitten with his head in his
arm, and I noticed that his dark hair, which he kept roughly cut, was
curly. He must have been wandering in the woods, for he had a bunch of
pink blossoms, very waxy and odorous, shut tight in his hand. I looked
at him till I suddenly wanted him to wake and look at me. I picked a
grass stalk, and, leaning over, brushed it against his lips.

He woke as a child does, not alert at once, but with drowsy stirrings,
and finally with open eyes so sleep-filled that they were as
expressionless as a fawn's. He stared as if trying to remember who I
was.

I sat beside him. "I am the owner of that cargo you are guarding," I
supplied to aid his memory, and then laughed to see the red flood his
face when he came to himself and realized what he had done. But I was
not at ease. He had shivered and drawn back when he first opened his
eyes. Could he be afraid of me? I should not wish that. I tried to
be crafty.

"Who did you think I was when you first woke?" I asked, taking my pipe
and preparing to be comfortable.

He pushed back his hair. "Benjamin," he answered vaguely. He was
still half asleep.

"But you told me your name was Benjamin!" I put down my flint and
tinder.