my dishes," and leaving my room in
disorder. The wagon lay half-way down the side of a ravine, kept from
destruction by having caught on some trees.

It was too cold to hang about while the men hauled it up and fixed it,
so I went slowly back, encountering Mr. Nugent in a most bitter
mood--almost in an "ugly fit"--hating everybody, and contrasting his
own generosity and reckless kindness with the selfishness and
carefully-weighed kindnesses of others. People do give him credit for
having "as kind a heart as ever beat." Lately a child in the other
cabin was taken ill, and though there were idle men and horses at hand,
it was only the "desperado" who rode sixty miles in "the shortest time
ever made" to bring the doctor. While we were talking he was sitting
on a stone outside his den mending a saddle, shins, bones, and skulls
lying about him, "Ring" watching him with jealous and idolatrous
affection, the wind lifting his thin curls from as grand a head as was
ever modeled--a ruin of a man. Yet the sun which shines "on the evil
and the good" was lighting up the gold of his hair. May our Father
which is in heaven yet show mercy to His outcast child!

Mr. Kavan soon overtook me, and we had an exciting race of two miles,
getting home just before the wind fell and the snow began.

Thanksgiving Day. The thing dreaded has come at last, a snow-storm,
with a north-east wind. It ceased about midnight, but not till it had
covered my bed. Then the mercury fell below zero, and everything
froze. I melted a tin of water for washing by the fire, but it was
hard frozen before I could use it. My hair, which was thoroughly wet
with the thawed snow of yesterday, is hard frozen in plaits. The milk
and treacle are like rock, the eggs have to be kept on the coolest part
of the stove to keep them fluid. Two calves in the shed were frozen to
death. Half our floor is deep in snow, and it is so cold that we
cannot open the door to shovel it out. The snow began again at eight
this morning, very fine and hard. It blows in through the chinks and
dusts this letter while I write. Mr. Kavan keeps my ink bottle close
to the fire, and hands it to me every time that I need to dip my pen.
We have a huge fire, but cannot raise the temperature above 20 degrees.
Ever since I returned the lake has been hard enough to bear a wagon,
but to-day it is difficult to keep the water hole open by the constant
use of the axe. The snow may either melt or