“What an abominable row you are kicking up!” growled the accountant; “why, you would waken the seven sleepers. Oh! mending the fire,” he added, in an altered tone: “ah! I’ll excuse you, my boy, since that’s what you’re at.”
The accountant hereupon got up, along with Hamilton, who was now also awake, and the three spread their hands over the bright fire, and revolved their bodies before it, until they imbibed a satisfactory amount of heat. They were much too sleepy to converse, however, and contented themselves with a very brief enquiry as to the state of Hamilton’s heels, which elicited the sleepy reply, “They feel quite well, thank you.” In a short time, having become agreeably warm, they gave a simultaneous yawn, and lying down again, they fell into a sleep from which they did not awaken until the red winter sun shot its early rays over the arctic scenery.
Once more Harry sprang up, and let his hand fall heavily on Hamilton’s shoulder. Thus rudely assailed, that youth also sprang up, giving a shout, at the same time, that brought the accountant to his feet in an instant; and so, as if by an electric spark, the sleepers were simultaneously roused into a state of wide-awake activity.
“How excessively hungry I feel! isn’t it strange?” said Hamilton, as he assisted in rekindling the fire, while the accountant filled his pipe, and Harry stuffed the tea-kettle full of snow.
“Strange!” cried Harry, as he placed the kettle on the fire—“strange to be hungry after a five miles’ walk and a night in the snow? I would rather say it was strange if you were not hungry. Throw on that billet, like a good fellow, and spit those grouse, while I cut some pemmican and prepare the tea.”
“How are the heels now, Hamilton?” asked the accountant, who divided his attention between his pipe and his snow-shoes, the lines of which required to be readjusted.
“They appear to be as well as if nothing had happened to them,” replied Hamilton: “I’ve been looking at them, and there is no mark whatever. They do not even feel tender.”
“Lucky for you, old boy, that they were taken in time, else you’d had another story to tell.”
“Do you mean to say that people’s heels really freeze and fall off?” inquired the other, with a look of incredulity.
“Soft, very soft and green,” murmured Harry, in a low voice, while he continued his work of adding fresh snow to the kettle as the process of melting reduced its bulk.