The Sleeper and the Spindle

by Neil Gaiman

“Wake her how?” asked the middle-sized dwarf, hand still clutching his rock, for he thought in essentials. “The usual method,” said the pot-girl, and she blushed. “Or so the tales have it.” “Right,” said the tallest dwarf. “So, bowl of cold water poured on the face and a cry of ‘Wakey! Wakey!’?”