In his youth Adams might have been less resentful of sounds such as these when they interfered with his night's sleep: even during an illness he might have taken some pride in them as proof of his citizenship in a live town; but at fifty — five he merely hated them because they kept him awake. They pressed on his nerves, as he put it; and so did almost everything else, for that matter. He heard the milk-wagon drive into the cross-street beneath his windows and stop at each house. The milk man carried his jars round to the back porch, while the horse moved slowly ahead to the gate of the next customer and waited there. He's gone into Adams thought, following this progress. I hope it'll sour on 'em before breakfast. Delivered the Andersons'. Now he's getting out ours. Listen to the darn brute! What's he care who wants to sleep! His complaint was of the horse, who casually shifted weight with a clink of steel shoes on the worn brick pavement of the street, and then heartily shook himself in his harness, perhaps to dislodge a ?y far ahead of its season. Light had just filmed the windows; and with that the first sparrow woke, chirped instantly, and roused neighbours in the trees of the small yard, including a loud-voiced robin. Vociferations began irregularly, but were soon unanimous.