“Plenty.”
“Then that's what I heard nibbling by my head. I shan't sleep a wink! Do they bite?”
“No, they nibble; scarcely ever take a full bite out.”
“It's horrid!”
Towards morning it grows chilly; the guides have let the fire go out; the blankets will slip down. Anxiety begins to be expressed about the dawn.
“What time does the sun rise?”
“Awful early. Did you sleep?
“Not a wink. And you?”
“In spots. I'm going to dig up this root as soon as it is light enough.”
“See that mist on the lake, and the light just coming on the Gothics! I'd no idea it was so cold: all the first part of the night I was roasted.”