She tried to straighten herself up, but, too wet and chilled and limp to
be heroic, she sank on a rock and began to cry.

"Please don't do that," said the artist, softly. "Of course I shouldn't
have agreed with you. I beg pardon for having done so, but now that we
are here, you are not to shirk your share of the duties. I want you to
search around and get materials for a fire."

"Search around?" cried Miss Sommerton dolefully.

"Yes, search around. Hunt, as you Americans say. You have got us into
this scrape, so I don't propose you shall sit calmly by and not take any
of the consequences."

"Do you mean to insult me, Mr. Trenton, now that I am helpless?"

"If it is an insult to ask you to get up and gather some wood and bring
it here, then I do mean to insult you most emphatically. I shall gather
some, too, for we shall need a quantity of it."

Miss Sommerton rose indignantly, and was on the point of threatening to
leave the place, when a moment's reflection showed her that she didn't
know where to go, and remembering she was not as brave in the darkness
and in the woods as in Boston, she meekly set about the search for dry
twigs and sticks. Flinging down the bundle near the heap Trenton had
already collected, the young woman burst into a laugh.

"Do you see anything particularly funny in the situation?" asked
Trenton, with chattering teeth. "I confess I do not."