The White Goat and his Country 



time before us still. Next morning we waked 

 in midwinter, the flakes flying thick and fu- 

 rious over a park that was no longer a pas- 

 ture, but a blind drift of snow. We lived 

 in camp, perfectly comfortable. Down at 

 the Forks I had had made a rough imitation 

 of a Sibley stove. All that its forger had to 

 go on was my unprofessional and inexpert 

 description, and a lame sketch in pencil ; but 

 he succeeded so well that the hollow iron 

 cone and joints of pipe he fitted together 

 turned out most efficient. The sight of the 

 apparatus packed on a horse with the panniers 

 was whimsical, and until he saw it work I 



know that T despised it. After that, it 



commanded his respect. All this stormy day 

 it roared and blazed, and sent a lusty heat 



throughout the tent. T cleaned the two 



goat-heads, and talked Shakspere and Thack- 

 eray to me. He quoted Henry the Fourth, 

 and regretted that Thackeray had not more 

 developed the character of George Warring- 

 ton. Warrington was the man in the book. 

 When night came the storm was gone. 



By eight the next morning we had sighted 

 another large solitary billy. But he had seen 



51 



