Almost immediately a genial warmth began to pervade the interior of the cave beneath the tree. The fire crackled and blazed cheerfully. The thick thatching of boughs proved an excellent protection from the snow and such wind as penetrated the depths of the forest. The success of the experiment was assured.
It was quite dark now, but Andy, for the present at least, was safe and comfortable enough. Quick planning, energetic action, and instinctive resourcefulness, had saved him from the terrible blizzard that was sweeping over the marsh and lashing through the tops of the forest trees with growing fury.
Andy sat lax and limp for a little while. He had worked with almost frenzied exertion. Now he felt like one who had but just, and barely, escaped a great peril. Presently he drew off his outer adiky, shook the snow from it, and drawing it on again proceeded to arrange himself comfortably.
“’Tis almost as snug as the tilt,” he said presently. “Pop were right when he says there’s no fix too big to get out of, if you goes about un right. If I’d kept scared, and hadn’t tried, I’d perished, and now I’m safe whilst I ’bides here. If I only had something t’ eat!”
Comfort is comparative. What might be a severe hardship under some circumstances might become the height of luxury and comfort under others. Andy’s retreat appealed to him now, after his battle with the storm, as most luxurious and comfortable. The wind howling and shrieking through the treetops brought to the lad’s ears a constant reminder of what might have been his fate, and served to add to the snugness of the shelter and cozy cheerfulness of the fire.
Now that he was safe from the storm for the time being, his thoughts turned to David. He did not know how far David was in advance of him. He had no doubt he had hurried on to the spruce grove, and not finding him there had set out for the tilt, but he could never have reached it before the storm broke.
This thought rendered Andy miserable. His imagination pictured David stark and frozen out on the storm beaten marsh. His misery grew almost to anguish until, in his better judgment, he reasoned that, like himself, David must have taken refuge in the forest, and that David knew better than he how to protect himself. Then he remembered Doctor Joe’s song, and accompanied by the roar of wind overhead, sang in a subdued voice:
“The worst of my foes are worries and woes,
And all about troubles that never come true.
And all about troubles that never come true.”