The Power of Sleep

A week ago I was digging a grave for the Squire's father, a cruel and venal man who I rather doubt is easy found himself in the kingdom of heaven. A pure soul is not what buys you a well appointed cemetery plot, and he had plenty of money to do exactly that. But by the end of it, oh I tell you there was warmth in that grave, whether by my own body or the heat of the soil I couldn't say but it was as comfortable as the fireplace of a public house. So as is my lay habit, I lay down, and after no sooner done this than a powerful sleep overtook me. And then I dreamt a rain had

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