Later on in the afternoon I sit down again to eat, as if I needed a meal
and had earned it. But it is only for something to do; my hands are idle,
and my brain inclined to fancies. It gets dark early: well to find a
sheltered cleft in the hillside here; there are fallen firs enough lying
about for a fire.
Such are the things I tell of now, playing with muted strings.
I was out early next morning, as soon as it began to get light. A quiet,
warm snowfall came on, and there was a soughing in the air. Bad weather
coming, I thought to myself; but who could have foreseen it? Neither I nor
my weather-guide looked for it twenty-four hours ago.
I left my shelter and went on again over moor and heath; full day again
now, and snowing. It was not the best of shelters I had found for the
night: passably soft and dry, with branches of fir to lie on, and I had
not felt the cold, but the smoke from my fire drifted in over me and
troubled my breathing.
But now, this afternoon, I found a better place--a spacious and elegant
cave with walls and roof complete.
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