of the canvas roof proceeded, a number of youngsters jumped down from
the wagons, yelling and screaming with all the power of their lusty
lungs. They threw snowballs at one another as they ran, some in search
of firewood and others, with wooden pails dangling from ends of curved
sticks over the left shoulder, in search of water for the horses and for
the cooking pots of their mothers.

Soon afterwards, from little crooked black chimneys that pointed
downwards over the roofs of the wagons, thick black smoke told that the
fires were already started. The youngsters came back; those with the
full water pails marching erectly with legs well apart; the ones with
bundles of firewood strapped to their shoulders leaning forward on
knotted sticks so as not to fall under the heavy burden.

When everything had been done, Marcu, the tall gray-bearded chief,
inspected the work. A few of the ropes needed tightening. He did it
himself, shaking his head in disapproval of the way in which it had been
done. Then he listened carefully to the blowing of the wind and measured
its velocity and intensity. He called to his men. When they had
surrounded him, he spoke a few words. With shovels and axes they set
energetically to work at his direction, packing a wall of snow and wood
from the ground up over the axles of the wheels all around the wagons so
as to give greater solidity to the whole and to prevent the cold wind
from blowing underneath.

By the time the early night settled over the marshes, the camp was quiet
and dark. Even the dogs had curled up near the tired horses and had gone
to sleep.

Early the following morning the whole thing could not be distinguished