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 
