No hide nor hair was found.
And here all hope soured on me,
Of my fellow-critters' aid—
I jest flopped down on my marrow bones,
Crotch deep in the snow, and prayed.
By this the torches was played out,
And me and Isrul Parr
Went off for some wood to a sheepfold
That he said was somewhar thar.
We found it at last, and a little shed