“Scraping the ice off the sledge to make it run easily. It’s a glorious morning.”
“Night,” said Dallas sourly, for he was half asleep. “I’m not going to call it morning till there’s daylight. Snowing?”
“No. Keen frost, and the stars are brilliant.”
“Bother the stars!” grumbled Dallas, rolling out of his warm couch of blankets and skins. “I want the sun to come back and take the raw edge off all this chilly place. But I say, you have given up going with us to-day—to-night, I mean?”
“Given up? No. I feel that it is time I made an effort, and I shall be better and stronger if I do.”
“But you can’t wear your boots, you know, and it will not be safe for you to trust to a bandaged sandal.”
“Can’t wear my boots?” said Abel. “Well, at any rate, I’ve got them on.”
“But they must hurt you horribly.”
“Not in the least,” said Abel, and his cousin was silent while he completed his exceedingly simple toilet—one that he would not have thought possible in the old days.
By the time he had finished, the door opened, and Tregelly stooped to pass under the lintel.