here soon.

Brede did not come.

The storm increased, Axel felt the snow driving full in his face.
Ho, 'tis coming down in earnest now, says he to himself, still never
troubling much about it all--ay, 'tis as if he blinks at himself
through the snow, to look out, for now things are beginning in
earnest! After a long while he gives a single shout. The sound would
hardly carry far in the gale, but it would be upward along the line,
towards Brede. Axel lies there with all sorts of vain and useless
thoughts in his head: if only he could reach the ax, and perhaps cut
his way out! If he could only get his hand up--it was pressing against
something sharp, an edge of stone, and the stone was eating its way
quietly and politely into the back of his hand. Anyhow, if only that
infernal stone itself had not been there--but no one has ever yet
heard tell of such a touching act of kindness on the part of a stone.

Getting late now, getting later, the snow drifting thick; Axel
is getting snowed up himself. The snow packs all innocently, all
unknowing, about his face, melting at first, till the flesh grows
cold, and then it melts no longer. Ay, now 'tis beginning in earnest!

He gives two great shouts, and listens.

His ax is getting snowed up now; he can see but a bit of the haft.
Over there is his basket of food, hung on a tree--if he could but have
reached it, and had a feed--oh, huge big mouthfuls! And then he goes
one step farther in his demands, and asks yet more: if he only had his
coat on--it is getting cold. He gives another swinging shout....

And there is Brede. Stopped in his tracks, standing still, looking
toward the man as he calls; he stands there but for a moment, glancing
that way, as if to see what is amiss.

"Reach me the ax here, will you?" calls Axel, a trifle weakly.

Brede looks away hurriedly, fully aware now of what is the matter; he
glances up at the telegraph wires and seems to be whistling. What can
he mean by that?

"Here, reach me the ax, can't you?" cries Axel louder. "I'm pinned
here under a tree."

But Brede is strangely full of zeal in his duty now, he keeps on
looking at the telegraph wires, and whistling all the time. Note,
also, that he seems to be whistling gaily, as it were vengefully.

"Ho, so you're going to murder me--won't even reach me the ax?" cries
Axel. And at that it seems as if there is trouble farther down the
line, which Brede must see to without delay. He moves off, and