“Then let’s get used to it, lad. I say, suppose we were getting gold here, instead of a biscuit-tin; we shouldn’t make a fuss about being buried. Why, it’s just what we should like.”
“I suppose so,” replied Abel.
“It’s what we shall have to do, perhaps, by-and-by. This is a sort of lesson, and it will make the rest easy.”
“If we get out.”
“Get out? Pish! We shall get out soon. The sun and the rain will thaw us out if we don’t dig a way. Hullo! The lid’s off the tin, and the biscuits are half of them in the snow. Never mind. Set to work and eat, while I pick up all I can find. I’m hungry. Peck away, lad, and think you’re a squirrel eating your winter store. I say, who would think one could be so warm and snug surrounded by snow?”
Abel made no reply, but tried to eat, as he heard the cracking and crunching going on at his side. It was hard work, though, and he went on slowly, for the effort to swallow was accompanied by a good deal of pain, and he ceased long before Dallas gave up.
“How are you getting on?” the latter said in an encouraging tone.
“Badly.”
“Yes, they are dry; but wait till we get our gold. We’ll have a banquet to make up for this. By Jove!”
“What is it?”