He could not quite understand what was the matter.

First she lit a candle, took a book from the small table by the bed and began to read resolutely.  This continued till Lama’s eyes began to blink at the candle flame, and then he was suddenly aware that the light was out and the book closed, and all fallen back again into the clear gray tones which men call darkness.

He put his head down on his paws, but his eyebrows rose now and again as he glanced at the bed.

Then the candle was lighted again after a certain space of time, but this time there was no book opened.  Instead, his mistress took her arms out of bed, and clasped them behind her head, staring up at the ceiling....

This was tiresome, as the light was in his eyes, and his body was just inert enough with sleep to make movement something of an effort....

Little by little, however, his eyebrows came down, remained down, and his eyes closed....

He awoke again at a sound.  The candle was still burning, but his mistress had rolled over on to her side and seemed to be talking gently to herself.  Then she was over again on this side, and a minute later was out of bed, and walking to and fro noiselessly on the soft carpet.

He watched her with interest, his eyes only following her.  He had never yet fully understood this mysterious change of aspect that took place every night—­the white thin dress, the altered appearance of the head, and—­most mysterious of all—­the two white things that ought to be feet, but were no longer hard and black.  He had licked one of them once tentatively, and had found that the effect was that it had curled up suddenly; there had been a sound as of pain overhead, and a swift slap had descended upon him.

He was observing these things now—­to and fro, to and fro—­and his eyes moved with them.

* * * * *

After a certain space of time the movement stopped.  She was standing still near a carved desk—­important because a mouse had once been described sitting beneath it; and she stood so long that his eyes began to blink once more.  Then there was a rustle of paper being torn, and he was alert again in a moment.  Perhaps paper would be thrown for him presently....

She came across to the hearth-rug, and he was up, watching her hands, while his own short tail flickered three or four times in invitation.  But it was no good:  the ball was crumpled up and thrown on to the red logs.  There was a “whup” from the fire and a flame shot up.  He looked at this carefully with his head on one side, and again lay down to watch it.  His mistress was standing quite still, watching it with him.

Then, as the flame died down, she turned abruptly, went straight back to the bed, got into it, drew the clothes over her and blew the candle out.

* * * * *

After a few moments steady staring at the fire, he perceived that a part of the ball of paper had rolled out on to the stone hearth unburned.  He looked at it for some while, wondering whether it was worth getting up for.  Certainly the warmth was delicious and the sheepskin exquisitely soft.