In a few minutes he was sound asleep again; for
farming people sleep like sailors, as though sleep were a sort of
spirit muffling them suddenly in a thick felt blanket. After he
had gone off to sleep, I took off my boots, in order to put them
on under my stockings, for the greater quiet which that muffling
gives to the tread. Then I peered about the loft for a way of
escape.
There were big double doors to this upper loft, through which the
hay could be passed from a waggon standing near the wall. These
doors were padlocked on the inside; there was no opening them;
the staples were much too firm for me to remove without a
crowbar. The other openings in the walls were mere loophole
slits, about four feet long but only a few inches broad. There
were enough of these to make the place light. By their light I
could see that there was no way of escape for me except by the
main door. I was almost despairing of escape from this prison of
mine, when I saw that the loft had a hayshoot, leading downwards.
When I saw it I fondly hoped that it led to some outer stable or
cart-shed, separated from that in which the carter slept. A
glance down its smooth shaft showed me that it led to the main
stable. I could see the heads of the meditative horses, bent over
the empty mangers exactly as if they were saying grace. Beyond
them I saw the boots of the carter dangling over the edge of the
trusses of hay on which he slept. I stepped back from this shaft
quickly because I thought that I might be seen from below.
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