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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. He met my look. "I have a cousin Benjamin, as well," he rejoined. "I was dreaming of him. Monsieur, I am humiliated to think that I went to sleep. I have never done so before." My pipe drew well, and I did not feel like chiding. "It does not matter," I said, with a yawn. "You must not take it amiss, monsieur, if I confess that, as a guard, I have never considered you much more seriously than I would that brown thrush above you. What is your posy?" and I leaned over and took the flowers from his hand. He smiled at me drowsily. "The arbutus," he explained, with a lingering touch of his finger upon the blossoms. "Smell them, monsieur. I found them in Connecticut last spring. Are they not well suited to be the first flowers of this wild land? Repellent without,--see how rough the leaves are to your finger,--but fragrant and beautiful under its harsh coating. Life in the Colonies grew to seem to me much the same." I turned the flowers over, and considered his philosophy. "You are less cynical than your wont, monsieur." I reflected. "May I say that I like it better in you? Cynicism is a court exotic. It should not grow under these pines." He put out his hand to brush a twig from my doublet. "Cynicism is often the flower of bitterness. Monsieur, you have been very good to me. I cannot keep in mind my constant bitterness against life when I think of the thoughtfulness and justice you hav
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