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 . . . like a warm
breath. It's gone now. Come here, Snipe, and listen."

"'Breath,' eh? Did it _smell_ like bear?"

"I don't know . . . I didn't smell nothing, to notice. Here, put your
head down, close."

The Snipe bent his head. And at that moment the door shook gently.
All stared; and saw the latch move up, up . . . and falteringly descend
on the staple. They heard the click of it.

The door was secured within by two stout bars. Against these there had