WE WALK ACROSS 93 



were spoilt or not I do not know. I think not. When 

 I woke up about two hours later the first thing I saw 

 was a little black-and-white head and a bright eye watch- 

 ing from the nest. 



And then I looked at the stone in the river ; the water 

 had not sunk. 



It must be a common experience with many who have 

 tried camp life, or sleeping out of doors, that although 

 they sleep as soundly they wake far more easily than at 

 home in bed. They don't stretch or grunt, or pull them- 

 selves together, or wonder where they are, or protest in 

 any way. Only they open their eyes. And with that, 

 simultaneously, the thread of things is taken up again in 

 all completeness. Quite alert, absolutely equipped, the 

 sleeper is awake. 



So the ringed plover was as still as the stone in the 

 water for a minute or two after I woke ; but then, when 

 I was obliged to move, she left her four eggs to the 

 mercy of the elements and ran piping off into the fog. 



Such a fog it was — a sea-fog coming from the ice. 

 And as it came it froze, and all it touched grew hard 

 and white. My beard and moustache were solid, so that 

 I had to break a way into my mouth. 



Scrambling along the bank I reached Hyland's 

 hollow. Poor fellow, I shall never forget him. He was 

 lying there as white from the frost as the woollen sweater 

 he was wearing. His face, ordinarily red and jolly, was 

 blue with orange patches, and his hands the same. He 



