what might happen later. There was another night to be faced before we
escaped from this distressing place, and there was no knowing yet what it
might bring forth.

"Come and cut up bread for the pot," I called to him, vigorously stirring
the appetizing mixture. That stew-pot held sanity for us both, and the
thought made me laugh.

He came over slowly and took the provision sack from the tree, fumbling in
its mysterious depths, and then emptying the entire contents upon the
ground-sheet at his feet.

"Hurry up!" I cried; "it's boiling."

The Swede burst out into a roar of laughter that startled me. It was forced
laughter, not artificial exactly, but mirthless.

"There's nothing here!" he shouted, holding his sides.

"Bread, I mean."

"It's gone. There is no bread. They've taken it!"

I dropped the long spoon and ran up. Everything the sack had contained lay
upon the ground-sheet, but there was no loaf.

The whole dead weight of my growing fear fell upon me and shook me. Then I
burst out laughing too. It was the only thing to do: and the sound of my
laughter also made me understand his. The stain of psychical pressure
caused it--this explosion of unnatural laughter in both of us; it was an