“Shall I come with you, Paddy?” said Byarnie, who was the best of friends with the “Oirlander.”
“Not to-night, me bhoy,” replied Paddy. “It’s after a bit av diversion I’m going, and I think best when I’m all alone by me swate little self.”
“Well, you might take a gun with you,” suggested Byarnie, “for there may be bears about, you know.”
“Bad cess to them. No. There’s never a fear of Paddy.”
Byarnie watched him disappear round the brow of a high knoll, about a quarter of a mile from the Icebear; then went quietly below.
The weather had been fine for weeks, and no snow had fallen. It was just the season when the sun might soon be expected. Already, indeed, there was twilight at noon, so all hearts were gay and hopeful.
Paddy was in search of a hill, and he was very particular as to both its shape, its height, and its condition. At last his prospecting cruise was crowned with success.
“C’dn’t have been better,” said Paddy, talking to himself, half aloud, as he had a habit of doing; “c’dn’t have been better if me own mother had made it.”
The one drawback was that it was fully a mile and a half from the ship; but, after all, that was a small matter. So Paddy started to go back.
It had been tedious work, and hours of it, and, feeling tired, he began to think of his pipe. To think was to act with this son of Green Erin. He stuck his alpenstock in the snow, and forthwith scratched a match and lit up.