So we are resting in our tents, waiting to start to-night. Gran has
gone back for the snow-shoes--he volunteered good-naturedly--certainly
his expertness on ski is useful.

Last night the temperature fell to -6° after the wind dropped--to-day
it is warm and calm.

_Impressions_

The seductive folds of the sleeping-bag.

The hiss of the primus and the fragrant steam of the cooker issuing
from the tent ventilator.

The small green tent and the great white road.

The whine of a dog and the neigh of our steeds.

The driving cloud of powdered snow.

The crunch of footsteps which break the surface crust.

The wind blown furrows.

The blue arch beneath the smoky cloud.

The crisp ring of the ponies' hoofs and the swish of the following
sledge.

The droning conversation of the march as driver encourages or chides