It was a drizzling rain, and the sombre clouds hung low in the sky.
The wind appeared to be steadily increasing. The day was Sunday,
October 18th. Presently George sat up, rubbed his eyes and gazed about
him for a moment in bewilderment.
"Mornin', Wallace," he said, when he had collected his senses, "that
blamed rain will make the travellin' hard, won't it?"
He tied the pieces of blanket to his feet, and started for the river to
get a kettle of water with which to reboil the bones. The movement
aroused Hubbard, and he, too, sat up.
"How's the weather, b'y?" he asked.
"It makes me think of Longfellow's 'Rainy Day,"' I replied. "'The day
is cold, and dark, and dreary.'"
"Yes," he quickly returned; "but
"'Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining.'"