204 THE JONATHAN PAPERS 



&quot;Cold? &quot;he said. 



&quot;I don t know no, of course I m not.&quot; 

 I found it hard to lay hold on clear ideas 

 again. 



&quot;I heard you shoot. Get any? &quot; 

 &quot;I think I hurried them a little.&quot; 

 We started back. At least I suppose it was 

 back, because after a while we came to the 

 road we had left. I was conscious only of be 

 wildering patches of snow that lay like half- 

 veiled moonlight on the dark stretches of the 

 marsh. At last a clump of cedars made them 

 selves felt rather than seen. &quot;There s the 

 fence corner ! We re all right,&quot; said Jonathan. 

 A snow-filled horse rut gave faint guidance, the 

 twigs of the hedgerow lightly felt of our faces 

 as we passed. We found the main road, and it 

 led us through the quiet, fog-bound village, 

 whose house lights made tiny blurs on the 

 mist, to the hot, bright little station. Then 

 came the close, flaringly lighted car, and 

 people commuters getting on and off, 

 talking about the &quot;weather,&quot; and filling the 

 car with the smell of wet newspapers and um 

 brellas. We had returned to the land of 

 &quot;weather.&quot; Yet it did not really touch us. It 



