But within the cabin they were snug and warm, Bill's ax kept the
woodpile high. The two fireplaces shone red the twenty-four hours
through. Of flour, tea, coffee, sugar, beans, and such stuff as could
only be gotten from the outside he had a plentiful supply. Potatoes
and certain vegetables that he had grown in a cultivated patch behind
the cabin were stored in a deep cellar. He could always sally forth
and get meat. And the ice was no bar to fishing, for he would cut a
hole, sink a small net, and secure overnight a week's supply of trout
and whitefish. Thus their material wants were provided for.
As time passed Hazel gradually shook off a measure of her depression,
thrust her uneasiness and resentment into the background. As a matter
of fact, she resigned herself to getting through the winter, since that
was inevitable. She was out of the world, the only world she knew, and
by reason of the distance and the snows there was scant chance of
getting back to that world while winter gripped the North. The spring
might bring salvation. But spring was far in the future, too far ahead
to dwell upon. As much as possible, she refrained from thinking,
wisely contenting herself with getting through one day after another.
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