homes, after all. That must be why people built houses. When the snow
lay in a deep cake, showing only the two thumb-like marks at long
intervals made by the rabbit in its leaping flight, and when the air
was so tense and cold you could hear the bark of a dog far off,
Bobaday used to say he would love to live in the woods all the time.
He would chop to keep himself warm. He loved to drag the air into his
lungs when it seemed frozen to a solid. Corinne remembered how his
cheeks burned and his eyes glittered during any winter exertion. And
what could be prettier, he said, than the woods after it sleeted all
night, and hoar frost finished the job! Every tree would stand
glittering in white powder, as if dressed for the grandest occasion,
the twigs tipped with lace-work, and the limbs done in tracery and
all sorts of beautiful designs. Still this white dress was deadly
cold to handle. Aunt Corinne had often pressed her fingers into the
velvet crust upon the trunks. She did not like the winter woods, and
hardly more did she like this rain-soaked place, and these broad,
treacherous leaves that poured water down her neck in the humid dark.

Bobaday pounced upon her with such force when he appeared once more,
that she was startled into trying to climb a bush no higher than
herself.

He had not a word to say, but hitched his aunt to his jacket and
drew her away with considerable haste. They floundered over logs and
ran against stumps. Their own smouldering fire, and wagon with the
hoops standing up like huge uncovered ribs, and the tents wherein
their guardian slept after the fatigue of the day, all appeared
wonderfully soon, considering the time it had taken them to reach
their exploring limit.