He had not been wrong; it was but a short respite. Scarcely had they
finished their preparations when a raw, penetrating wind, that seemed to
separate the flesh from the bone, blew down from the north. The birds
had now all gone, except the hardier northern ones. Their songs had
ceased; naught was heard but the sound of the restless waves, which kept
up an eternal moaning, the soughing of the pines, and the wild shrieks
of the sea-birds, whose cries seemed to grow drearier with the approach
of winter--modulated, as it were, to the weird north wind.

The three were now forced to remain inside their hut, but the great fire
which burned at the door gave them no warmth. There was but one course
to follow; a fire must be made within the hut. Claude had long dreaded
this inevitable thing, and had put off the evil day while he could. He
had been in the huts of the Montagnais, at Tadousac, during the depth of
winter, and had seen those shivering savages, half blind with the smoke,
crouching about a fire in the centre of their hut, while the smoke,
after circling their abode, found its way out through an opening cut in
the roof. But as winter drew nearer, he could only imitate the red men;
and, with great reluctance, he began to build a fireplace inside their
dwelling. The task completed, with saw and axe he cut an aperture above
it, and, piling a heap of branches on the stones, set fire to them. The
lurid flames for a moment brightened the interior; but soon, half
blinded, the women rushed choking into the open air, while the smoke
curled upwards, and the warm fire glowed within. There was nothing else
to do; they must become accustomed to the discomfort; and, driven in by
the cold, they crowded about the blaze. Claude could not but feel how
soon such a life must make them even as the red men. Their eyes grew
weak and bloodshot; poor old Bastienne became almost blind, and soon
could only grope her way about the hut.

Winter in Canada is now a delightful season for those who have the means
to resist its fiercer aspects, and can battle with and conquer it. The
keen, bracing air, that makes the blood tingle in the veins, and the
roses come to the cheek, calls out the latent energy of the Canadian;
but even now, for the poor, winter is a source of dread; the savage
still sees its approach with terror, and the sick, shut off from the
clear air of heaven, pray for its flight. In those early times it was a
season to be dreaded by