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Updated: May 27, 2025
Hamil and Malcourt descended; a groom blanketed the horses and took them to the stables; and Portlaw, with a large gesture of impatient hospitality, led the way into a great, warm living-room, snug, deeply and softly padded, and in which the fragrance of burning birch-logs and simmering toddy blended agreeably in the sunshine.
It was printed many years ago in the "Atlantic Monthly," and is called "The Walker of the Snow;" it begins thus: "Ah!" exclaimed my companion. "Let us pile on more of those dry birch-logs; I feel both the 'fear-chill' and the 'cold-chill' creeping over me. How far is it to the valley of the Neversink?" "About three or four hours' march, the man said." "I hope we have no haunted valleys to cross?"
It had been one of Sproatly's duties during the past two weeks to rise and renew the fire when the cold awakened his comrade soon after midnight. At present he was outside the house, whipsawing birch-logs and splitting them into billets, which was an occupation he cherished a profound dislike for.
When the taste as well as the smell had been enjoyed, the rest which followed by the blazing birch-logs that evening was so full of bliss that each camper felt as if existence had at last drifted to a point of superb content. Their camp-door stood open for ventilation; and a keen touch of frost, mingling with the night air which entered, made the fragrant warmth delightful.
When he descended the stairs once more he found Portlaw, surrounded by the contents of the mail-sack, and in a very bad temper, while Malcourt stood warming his back at the blazing birch-logs, and gazing rather stupidly at a folded telegram in his hands. "Well, Hamil damn it all!
"Ruth!" Robert began. "Wait a minute, please," she said. She went over to the secretary, opened the door and took down the book. Then she crossed to the table, got a match, approached the fireplace, leaned down, and set fire to my cherished selected birch-logs. She held up the book then and smiled radiantly at Robert. "This is my decision!" she said, and laid the book in the flames.
"Let us pile on more of those dry birch-logs; I feel both the 'fear-chill' and the 'cold-chill' creeping over me. How far is it to the valley of the Neversink?" "About three or four hours' march, the man said." "I hope we have no haunted valleys to cross?" "None," said I, "but we pass an old log cabin about which there hangs a ghostly superstition.
It had been one of Sproatly's duties since the accident to rise and renew the fire soon after midnight, and when Sally arrived he was outside the house, whip-sawing birch-logs and splitting them, an occupation he profoundly disliked. Spring had come suddenly, as it usually does on the prairie, and the snow was melting fast under a brilliant sun.
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