176 TRAPPING UP LITTLE OTTER 



presence of a posy bed; and what was once by cour- 

 tesy called a garden was a waste of dry weed stalks, 

 pitted with scars of old potato hills. 



As we peeped out across it through the crannies 

 of the logs, we saw the columns of scud sweeping 

 across the blank gray background from south to 

 north, then change the direction of their march to 

 the east until we heard the slanted drift of rain 

 beating against the western gable. The air began 

 to have a creeping chilliness upon which our smoky 

 fire made as little impression as the glow of our 

 pipes, and it grew more creepy and benumbing 

 when the rain beat on the northern slant of the roof 

 and then subsided to the slushy splash of wet snow. 

 At last we were driven to the poverty-stricken 

 extremity of going to bed to keep warm, when Joe 

 declared that his back "felt as if he was list'nin* 

 to a good scarey panther story when the critter 's 

 jest goin' to jump," and I am sure mine was as if 

 the panther was in the chamber. 



For awhile we dozed in a half -comfortable state, 

 but the cold increased beyond the capacity of our 

 buffaloes and straw to ward off, while the north 

 wind shrieked with a keener blast after every lull. 

 We spent the dreary night in turning over and 

 over, giving one side a chance to thaw a little 

 while the other slowly froze. We needed no alarm 

 to get us up in the morning, but were up when the 

 first level rays of the sun shining from a clear sky 



