But he continued to sleep, nevertheless, and at last the pigeon stew was ready, throwing out a savory odor.
The day was now coming, and Henry opened the window.

The forest, wet with morning dew, was rising up into the light, and afar in the east shone the golden glory of the sun.

He drew a deep breath of the fresh, good air, and decided to leave the window open.

Then he filled the broken gourd with the grateful stew, and, holding it in his right hand, shook Paul violently with his left.

Paul, who had now slept his fill, sat up suddenly and opened his eyes.
"Here, Paul, open your mouth," said Henry commandingly, "and take this fine stew.