Chapter 5

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.

"How English we are!" he exclaimed, with a touch of irony. "We have not
thrown off the yoke, by any means--at Mr. Adams', for instance, I could
believe myself in England. How exclusive is the pompous little Minister!
What respect for office! What adoration for landed gentry! What
supercilious tolerance for tradesmen! Oh, indeed, it confounds me! But
why should I trouble myself? I, who have the most adorable mistress in
the world to think about! What are the kings, presidents, ministers,
knaves of the world to me? Let Destiny shuffle them back and forth. I am
indifferent to whichever is trumps."

Then he fell into a reverie about his proposed visit to Mrs. Adams. Last
night it had appeared to him an easy and natural thing to do. He was not
so sure of his position this morning. Mr. Adams might be present; he was
punctilious in the extreme, and a call without an invitation at that
early hour might be considered an impertinence--especially if he had no
opportunity to enlighten Mrs. Adams about his love for Miss Moran, and
so ask her assistance. Then he began to doubt whether his mother was on
sufficient terms of intimacy to warrant his speaking about the swans and
laburnum seeds--in short, the visit