all alike, even along the banks of the broad
Hochelaga; but none can conceive, save those who have experienced them,
the awful horrors of a winter spent far north on a lonely island in the
Atlantic. The cold ceased not, day or night; the wind kept up a
continual moaning; the mighty sea swept in with long green rollers,
smashed the ice that made about the shores, and heaped it in great,
glittering grinding piles upon the beach. The hungry animals prowled
about the hut, and fought over the bones which were cast out to them.
The hares had changed their coats, and now bounded snow-white across the
snow-covered ground. They were dainty eating, and Claude's arquebuse
cracked through the woods on the short winter days, as he kept the
larder stocked with food--a welcome change after the salt beef which had
been set ashore with the women.

Bastienne and Marguerite found some relief from the terrible loneliness
which brooded over the island by working, when the light permitted, over
their wardrobe and Claude's. They had abundance of clothing for
themselves, but Claude had nothing but the garb in which he had swum
ashore. The two women contrived, by taking to pieces some of the
stoutest of their own outdoor garments, to patch him up a homely suit.
Rough, indeed, it was, and Claude felt like the King's jester when he
put it on; but no gay gallants of France were there to see him, and he
was even able to smile at the sorry figure he cut.

If ever man prayed for winter to end, it was he. He saw that it was
killing the two women, and the sharp pains in his own breast warned him
that the bitter, piercing winds had done their work, and that unless
relief came soon, he must succumb.

Old Bastienne was the greatest sufferer. Age was beginning to tell upon
her; and she, who had been as strong as a horse, now became weak as a
child. She went stumbling about her daily tasks. To save "her children,"
as she called the other two, she exposed herself to the cold and storm;
and although Claude begged her not to do work beyond her strength, she
would, when he was absent, take his axe and break the logs for the fire,
or wade through great drifts of snow to the spring which bubbled, sweet,
and fresh, and living, in this land of gloom and death.

The fire in the hut was never allowed to burn out; and towards spring
the three were hardly recognisable, so black had they become with the
smoke and the fierce blaze of the fire, about which they sat dur