“Oh, I can walk!” said the revived girl, with vivacity.

He lifted his nearly consumed torch, and conducted her to the stream.  “We must cross this, and find shelter on the other side.”  He let himself at once from the abrupt bank, into the cold, swift water, that came to his middle.  “I must carry you over;” unhesitatingly she stooped over to him, and was taken with one strong arm fully to himself, while he held his torch with the other.  He turned with her then, and plunged across the creek, holding her above its waters.  Its deepest part ran next the bank where he entered; fortunately it was not very wide, and he bore her safely to the opposite and lower bank.

The other side was protected from the tempest, which was at its greatest fury, by a high and perpendicular ledge of rocks which the course of the creek followed, but leaving a narrow space of hard land along the base.  Under the shelter, Bart turned up stream with his charge, occasionally lifting his torch and inspecting the mossy ledge.  Within a few feet of them the snow fell in wreaths and swirls, and sometimes little eddies of wind sifted it over them.

“Somewhere near here, is a place where they made shingles last summer, and there was a shed against the rocks, if we could only find it.”  Finally they doubled an abrupt angle in the nearly smooth wall, which bent suddenly back from the stream, for many feet, making a semicircle of a little space, and in the back of which Bart discovered the anxiously looked-for shed;—­a mere rude cover, on posts driven into the ground.

Under and about it were great quantities of dry shavings, and short bits of wood, the hearts and saps of shingle blocks.  To place a pile of these on the margin of the creek, and apply his torch to them, took but a moment; and in an instant a bright, white flame flashed and lit up the little sheltered alcove.  Another, and the almost overcome girl was placed on a seat of soft, dry shavings, against the moss-grown rock, under the rude roof, out of the reach of the snow or wind; and another fire was lit of the dry shingle blocks, at her feet, from which her saturated shoes were removed, and to which warmth was soon restored.

Barton now took from a pocket on the outside of the “wamus,” a small parcel, and produced some slices of tongue and bread, which the famished girl ate with the relish and eagerness of a hungry child.  More wine, now mingled with water, completed her repast; and Bart made further preparations for her comfort and rest.  A larger mass of the shavings so adjusted that she could recline upon them, was arranged for her, which made an easy, springy couch; and as she lay wearily back upon them, still others were placed about and over her, until, protected as she was, warmth and comfort came to her.