Bates observed the change in light and colour; Saul did not; neither was
disposed to dally for a moment. They were obliged to give forth their
voices now in hoarse ejaculations, to make the patient beasts understand
that they were to step off the rough log landing-place into the boat.
The boat was almost rectangular in shape, but slightly narrower at the
ends than in the middle, and deeper in the middle than at the ends; it
was of rough wood, unpainted. The men disposed the oxen in the middle of
the boat; the cart they unloaded, and distributed its contents as they
best might. With long stout poles they then pushed off from the shore.
Men and oxen were reflected in the quiet water.

They were not bound on a long or perilous voyage. The boat was merely to
act as a ferry round a precipitous cliff where the shore was impassable,
and across the head of the gushing river that formed the lake's outlet,
for the only road through the hills lay along the further shore of this
stream.

The men kept the boat in shallow water, poling and rowing by turns.
There was a thin coating of ice, like white silk, forming on the water.
As they went, Bates often looked anxiously where the log house stood on
the slope above him, fearing to see the girl come running frantic to the
water's edge, but he did not see her. The door of the house remained
shut, and no smoke rose from its chimney. They had left the childish old
woman sitting on the edge of her bed; Bates knew that she would be in
need of fire and food, yet he could not wish that the girl should wake
yet. "Let her sleep," he muttered to himself. "It will do her good."
Yet it was not for her good he wished her to sleep, but for his own
peace.

The pink faded from the sky, but the sun did not shine forth brightly.