OF FUEL AND FEAR— THE END OF 

 THE YEAR 



In winter my cottage could not be described as 

 cosy, although now and then, when men have been 

 in residence, I have sometimes had to fly from the 

 Scylla of a burning fiery furnace within, to the 

 Charybdis of the temperature outside, no matter 

 to what degree below zero it may have chosen to fall. 

 Jack Douglas curled up at the first breath of 

 winter, but many newcomers curl and uncurl. 

 Within a few hours of its first appearance, the snow 

 lay very deep in the bluffs, and only the slenderest 

 instalment of fuel had been felled and brought in. 

 My heart sank as I observed my helper stepping 

 gingerly out to his chores, with his collar pulled 

 up to his eyes, his head hidden between his shoulders, 

 his uncovered hands in his pockets, and a general 

 air of being prepared to go under to winter, who, 

 like all bullies, is a coward, and delights in the special 

 torment of those who fail to look her straight in 

 the eyes. Ominous also was the fact that he loved 

 to watch the fire ; I thoroughly understood the 

 temptation, but I would not have dared to give 

 it place in Canada. Directly his night duties in 

 the stable were over he put out the kitchen lamp, 

 opened the stove door and watched the fire until 



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