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Wallace, Dillon, 1863-1939

"Bobby of the Labrador"


When he awoke, however, on the morning of the third day of his
captivity, and forced his way out of doors, he was met by sunshine and
his heart bounded with joy. It was only behind bowlders and the clumps
of bushes scattered here and there, and in sheltered corners where
drifts had formed, that snow remained upon the island. Elsewhere the
wind had swept the rocks clean.
The gale that had racked the world had passed, but a brisk breeze was
blowing down from the north, sharp with winter cold. The sea, too, had
subsided, though even yet big rollers were driving and pounding upon the
rocky shore.
"Now," said Bobby, "with the first calm night, when the water quiets
down, the bay will freeze, and then I can walk in on the ice. But
they'll have to hurry in from the seal hunt or they'll be caught out
there and won't be able to bring the boat in this winter. I can stand it
a little while, and I hope the freeze-up won't come till they get back
home."
But Bobby lost no time in needless calculation. What was of highest
immediate importance was the satisfaction of his appetite, which as
usual was protesting against delay.
He had been eating raw sea pigeon quite long enough, and he proposed now
to enjoy the great treat of a grilled bird. And so without troubling
himself with vain regrets of what he might have done or might not have
done, he proceeded to fetch wood from his cave and to build a fire, and
a good one it was to be, too, in the lee of his bowlder.


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