“Dick,” he said sharply, “are you sorry we stayed?”
“No,” came the answer promptly. “No, by George, I'm not sorry, no matter what happens.”
“Nor I,” said Hugh, and lay down again, quieted somehow, so that soon he went to sleep.
He awoke, hours later, with a vague knowledge that something was wrong. After rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes and thinking a little, he decided that, even under his mountain of blankets, he was very cold. He got up hastily, huddled on all of his clothes, even to his mackinaw coat, and went into the other room to crouch before the hearth. The fire was not yet dead, but such warmth as it could give made little impression upon the terrible benumbing chill that filled the cottage. Nicholas, shivering and whining, came to his side and the two crept close together, each getting a little comfort from the other. Dick was still asleep; they could hear his breathing in the utter quiet, and the clock tick-ticking above them on the wall. In the flickering light Hugh
