Turning Over a New Leaf

When Hyde awakened, he was in that borderland between dreams and day which we call dawn. And as the ear is the last sense to go to sleep, and the first sense to throw off its lethargy, the voices of men calling "Milk Ho!" and the shrill childish cries of "Sweep Ho!" were the first intruders into that pleasant condition between sleeping and waking, so hard for any of us to leave without a sigh of regret. These sounds were quickly supplemented by the roll of the heavy carts which purveyed the only water suitable for drinking and culinary purposes; and by the sounds of wood-sawing and wood-chopping before the doors of the adjacent houses--sounds quickly blending themselves with the shuffling feet of the slaves cleaning the doorsteps and sidewalks, and chattering, singing, quarrelling the while with their neighbours, or with other early ministers to the city's domestic wants.

These noises had never before made any impression on him. "I am more alive than ever I was in my life," he said; and he laughed gayly, and went to the window. "It is a lovely day; and that is so much in my favour," he added, "for if it were raining, Cornelia would not leave the house." Then a big man, with a voice like a bull of Bashan, went down the opposite side of the street, shouting as he went--"Milk Ho!" and Hyde considered him. He had a heavy wooden yoke across his shoulders; and large tin pails, full of milk, hanging from it.