The postman frowned and made a wry face.

"How fond you are of talking, upon my word!" he said. "Can't you keep
quiet when you are travelling?"

The student was confused, and did not approach him again all the
journey. The morning came on rapidly. The moon turned pale and melted
away into the dull grey sky, the cloud turned yellow all over, the stars
grew dim, but the east was still cold-looking and the same colour as the
rest of the sky, so that one could hardly believe the sun was hidden in
it.

The chill of the morning and the surliness of the postman gradually
infected the student. He looked apathetically at the country around
him, waited for the warmth of the sun, and thought of nothing but how
dreadful and horrible it must be for the poor trees and the grass
to endure the cold nights. The sun rose dim, drowsy, and cold. The
tree-tops were not gilded by the rays of the rising sun, as usually
described, the sunbeams did not creep over the earth and there was no
sign of joy in the flight of the sleepy birds. The cold remained just
the same now that the sun was up as it had been in the night.

The student looked drowsily and ill-humouredly at the curtained windows
of a mansion by which the mail cart drove. Behind those windows, he
thought, people were most likely enjoying their soundest morning sleep
not hearing the bells, nor feeling the cold, nor seeing the postman's
angry face; and if the bell did wake some young lady, she would turn
over on the other side, smile in the fulness of her warmth and comfort,
and, drawing up her feet and putting her hand under her cheek, would go
off to sleep more soundly than ever.