hat was the extent of our preparation for the night. We had
as warm and comfortable a den as any one could wish for.

We decided not to cook our partridge, but to eat the food in our basket.
After our meal we got a drink of water at the brook, then crawled inside
our den and--as Maine woodsmen say--"pulled the hole in after us," by
stopping it with boughs.

"Now, let it storm!" Addison exclaimed.

Taking off our jackets and spreading them over us, we cuddled down there
by the warm rocks, and there we passed the night safely and by no means
uncomfortably.

It was still snowing fast in the morning; but the flakes were larger
now, and the weather had perceptibly moderated during the latter part of
the night. The forest, however, still looked too misty for us to find
our way through it.

"We might as well take it easy," Addison said. "If Halse is at Boundary
Camp, he will not leave in such weather as this."

All that forenoon it snowed steadily, and in fact for most of the
afternoon. More than a foot of snow had come. We opened the front of our
snow-coated den, kindled a fire there, and after dressing our partridge
broiled it over the embers. Still it snowed; but the weather now was
much warmer. By the following morning, we thought, we should have clear,
cold weather and should be able to set out again.

But never were weather predictions more at fault. The next morning it
was raining furiously; and our den had begun to drip. In fact, a
veritable January thaw had set in.

All that forenoon it poured steadily; and water began to show yellow
through the snow in the brook beside our camp. Addison crept out and
looked round, but soon came back dripping wet.

"Look here!" said he in some excitement. "There's a freshet coming, and
Lurvey's Stream is between us and Boundary Camp. If we don't start soon,
we can't get there at all."

Just as he finished speaking a deep, portentous rumbling began and
continued for several seconds. The distant mountain sides seemed to
reverberate with it, and at the end the whole forest shook with heavy,
jarring sounds. We both leaped out into the rain.

"What is it, Ad?" I cried.

"Earthquake," said Addison at last. "I've heard the old Squire say that
one sometimes comes in Maine, when there is a great winter thaw."

The deep jar and tremor gave us a strange sense of insecurity and
terror; there seemed to be no telling what might happen next.
Accordingly, we abandoned our moist den an