Later he threw down his book, declaring he could not read—that his leg was so painful.
I examined it. So far as I could tell all seemed right—so far as appearance went. His foot was cold and somewhat swollen, but there was warmth enough elsewhere.
Next day he had much more pain. He was all for cold water bandages. To please him I bathed his leg and wrapped it in wet cloths—this eased him.
That night he complained that the half-wet bandages were irritating him. What was I to do?
Finding that cold water applications soothed him, I kept the cloths wet always. Neither of us had the least idea whether we were doing right.
I discovered that he slept very little. I myself passed many a sleepless night, but my health was wonderfully good. I was quite robust in spite of my terrible anxieties.
The weather was now extremely cold—as cold as I had ever felt it in the east of Canada. Our place was warm though—so long as we kept the door closed and excluded draughts we were cosy.
The nights were extremely long, and the days, though usually sunny, were very cold. We had several hard gales: the fine, dry snow was forced through every crevice. I used to bring in abundance of food and fuel at such times, cram every crevice round our doorway full of moss, make Patch come inside, and none of us left the shelter whilst the blizzard lasted.
I had cut a hole in the door and covered it with a piece of the thin intestine of a bear. We had no glass. I used to read to my companion sometimes from a Bible, at others from Shakespeare, and we had a copy of that penny book W. T. Stead has published, 'Hymns that have Helped.' It had got out to Victoria, and I had picked it up at a book-store and valued it, for several of those hymns had powerful associations for me.
My friend was fond of some of them too, and I often saw him read a verse or two with tears in his eyes.