on some plan, till the idea came—ah! is that the snow coming down?”

“No, no! It was only I who moved.”

“But what—what are you doing? Why, you’ve turned over on your face.”

“Yes, yes; to rest a bit.”

“I’m trying you with all this rigmarole about a poor, unfortunate beggar.”

“No, no!” cried the other fiercely. “Go on—go on.”

The narrator paused for a few moments.

“Thank you, old fellow,” he whispered softly, and he felt for and grasped the listener’s hand, to press it hard. “I misjudged you. It’s pleasant to find a bit of sympathy like this. I’ve often read how fellows in shipwrecks, and wounded men after battles, are drawn together and get to be like brothers, and it makes one feel how much good there is in the world, after all. I expect you and I will manage to keep alive for a few days, old chap, and then we shall have to make up our minds to die—like men. I won’t be so cowardly any more. I feel stronger, and till we do go to sleep once and for all we’ll make the best of it, like men.”

“Yes, yes, yes! Go on—go on!”