Then it seemed
rather as if some creature were softly feeling about the door--fumbling
its coating of ice and frozen snow.
Cooney listened. They all listened. Usually, as soon as they stirred
from the scorching circle of the fire, their breath came from them in
clouds. It trickled from them now in thin wisps of vapour. They could
almost hear the soft grey ash dropping on the hearth.
A log spluttered. Then the invalid's voice clattered in--
"It's the bears--the bears! They've come after Bill, and next it'll be
my turn. I warned you--I told you he wasn't deep enough. O Lord, have
mercy . . . mercy . . . !" He pattered off into a prayer, his voice and
teeth chattering.
"Hush!" commanded the Gaffer gently; and Lashman choked on a sob.
"It ain't bears," Cooney reported, still with his ear to the door.
"Leastways . . . we've had bears before. The foxes, maybe . . . let me
listen."
Long Ede murmured: "Take us the foxes, the little foxes . . ."
"I believe you're right," the Gaffer announced cheerfully. "A bear
would sniff louder--though there's no telling. The snow was falling an
hour back, and I dessay 'tis pretty thick outside. If 'tis a bear, we
don't want him fooling on the roof, and I misdoubt the drift by the
north corner is pretty tall by this time. Is he there still?"
"I felt something then . . . through the chink, here .
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