He was
already ashiver and his hands and feet were numb.
He had no blanket, and no other covering than the wet clothes he wore,
and he closed the door of his shelter as best he could with the sticks
of driftwood which were stored under the boat. There was nothing else to
be done.
The cold had become intense. The storm demon had broken loose in all its
fury and was lashing sea and land in wild frenzy. The shrieking wind,
the dull, thunderous pounding of the waves upon the rocks and the hiss
of driving snow, filled the air with a tumult that was little less than
terrifying.
No man unsheltered could have survived an hour upon the exposed rocks of
the blizzard-swept island, and cold and shivering as he was, Bobby gave
thanks for his narrow little cover under the boat, which in contrast to
the world outside appealed to him now as an exceedingly snug retreat. It
was safe for a little while, at least, and here he hoped he might have
the strength to weather the storm in safety.
And while he lay and listened to the roar and tumult of the storm,
presently he became aware that he was growing warmer. His shivering
ceased. The bitter chill of the first half hour after his fire went out
passed away, and in a little while to his astonishment he discovered
that he was not after all so uncomfortable.
"The snow must have covered me all up," he exclaimed with sudden
enlightenment, "and I'll be at the bottom of a big drift pretty soon,
and that's what's making me warm.
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