THE SOUTHERN CATSKILLS 



perate dance there in the dim light, his tall form, 

 his blanket flapping, his teeth chattering, the por- 

 cupines outside marking time with their squeals and 

 grunts, still provokes a smile, though it was a seri- 

 ous enough matter at the time. After a while, the 

 warmth came back to him, but he dared not trust 

 himself again to the boughs; he fought the cold all 

 night as one might fight a besieging foe. By care- 

 fully husbanding the fuel, the beleaguering enemy 

 was kept at bay till morning came; but when morn- 

 ing did come, even the huge root he had used as a 

 chair was consumed. Rolled in my blanket beneath 

 a foot or more of balsam boughs, I had got some 

 fairly good sleep, and was most of the time oblivi- 

 ous of the melancholy vigil of my friend. As we 

 had but a few morsels of food left, and had been 

 on rather short rations the day before, hunger was 

 added to his other discomforts. At that time a 

 letter was on the way to him from his wife, which 

 contained this prophetic sentence : " I hope thee is 

 not suffering with cold and hunger on some lone 

 mountain-top." 



Mr. Bicknell's thrush struck up again at the first 

 signs of dawn, notwithstanding the cold. I could 

 hear his penetrating and melodious whisper as I lay 

 buried beneath the boughs. Presently I arose and 

 invited my friend to turn in for a brief nap, while 

 I gathered some wood and set the coffee brewing. 

 With a brisk, roaring fire on, I left for the spring 

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