“Don’t feel more sleepy, boy, do you?” said Serge, sharply.
“No; that seems to have woke me up,” was the reply; and taking a few steps forward with difficulty, for his feet sank right in at every step, Marcus leaned over into the car and caught Lupe by the ear where he lay curled up with his rough coat on end.
The boy’s movement was quickly and excitedly performed, a feeling of dread having attacked him that the dog might have been frozen stiff; but at the touch the animal gave a cheery bark, bounded out of the car, and began to plough his way through the snow, at first after the fashion of a pig, and then by throwing himself down first on one side and then upon the other.
“I was half afraid, Serge,” said Marcus.
“You needn’t have been, boy,” replied the old soldier. “You see, Nature’s given him a warm, thick coat, and he makes it thicker whenever he likes by setting his bristles up on end.”
“But that would make it more open and thinner, Serge.”
“Nay, but it don’t, boy. Somehow it keeps warm all inside between the hairs, and the cold can’t get through.”
“I don’t understand why that should be, Serge,” said Marcus, thoughtfully.
“I don’t neither,” said the man, “but it is so. It’s one of those funny things in Nature. Why, look at the birds. What do they do when a snow storm comes down from the mountains in winter? They don’t squeeze their feathers down tight, do they?”
“No,” said Marcus, thoughtfully; “they seem to set them all up on end, just as they do when they go to roost, and they look twice as big.”