“Wish I was being watched over and could sleep in peace,” groaned out Steve. “No, I don’t,” he hastened to add; “it would be so precious selfish. But I’m not well, Johannes; I’m chilly. Got a bad cold, I think.”
“Then go and get your sheep-skin coat.”
“Would you? Well, I think I will.”
He went back to the cabin, and returned, putting on the thick coat, with its closely-cut pile of wool, shorn so regularly that it looked like velvet in the light of the glistening stars.
“I don’t like this watching in the dark,” said Steve. “And how strange it is! Only the other day it was quite light at this time. Ugh! how cold I feel!”
“You’ll be better soon,” said Johannes. “You have not had time yet to feel the good of your coat.”
“What good can that do me when I’m not well?” grumbled Steve. “Hullo! you’ve got on yours.”
“Yes, sir; and it’s very welcome. The air is very cold to-night.”
“Freezing?”
“Yes, sir, hard. I daresay we shall find the fiord covered with ice in the morning. Winter is coming, sir, you see.”