“Fo’ de cold and de dark I no care—Pah!” cried Sheelah, snapping her eyes.
The younger Taffy waxed even sentimental over the thoughts of the winter.
“The col’ plenty much I lub,” she said, “and de night, oh, I lubs plenty much mo’.”
And these two strange little women went about all day long, humming little songs to themselves, but working as hard as honey-bees.
As the days grew shorter and shorter, the scenery in fine weather grew more mysterious, the hills and the snow assumed tints, ay, and strong colours, that were often magically beautiful.
Cold as it now was, it was a positive delight for our heroes to get away some distance from the cave-camp, and behold a sunset or a sunrise. Oh, you didn’t require to get up at all early now, reader, to see a sunrise.
Will the day ever come, I wonder, when the artist will be able, in colours, to interpret the descriptions which the author and student of nature try to depict?
Till then, much, so very much, must be left to the imagination.
* * * * *
No one in this country, probably, has ever seen a vermilion sun. But this is what greeted the eyes of our heroes on one of the last, short days of autumn.