Trails that Cross in the Snow 109 
barren into the gloomy spruce woods; beyond that it 
crosses two more barrens and stretches of intervening 
forest; then up a great hill and down into a valley, 
where the lodge lay hidden, buried deep under New¬ 
foundland snows. 
Here the fishermen lived, sleeping away the bitter 
winter. In the late autumn they had left the fishing 
village at Harbor Weal, driven out like the wild ducks 
by the fierce gales that raged over the whole coast. 
With their abundant families and scant provisions they 
had followed the trail up the Southwest Brook till it 
doubled around the mountain and led into a great 
silent wood, sheltered on every side by the encircling 
hills. Here the tilts were built with double walls, filled 
in between with leaves and moss, to help the little 
stoves that struggled bravely with the terrible cold; 
and the roofs were covered over with poles and bark, 
or with the brown sails that had once driven the fishing- 
boats out and in on the wings of the gale. The high 
mountains on the west stood between them and the icy 
winds that swept down over the sea from the Labrador 
and the Arctic wastes; wood in abundance was at their 
doors, and the trout-stream that sang all day long under 
its bridges of snow and ice was always ready to brim 
their kettles out of its abundance. 
So the new life began pleasantly enough; but as the 
winter wore away and provisions grew scarce and game 
