Fourteen sea pigeons would make fourteen meals, though scant ones for a husky fellow like Bobby.  Now he was hungry enough, as indeed he always was at meal hour and it did not take him long to pluck and dress one of the birds, and in short order it was grilling merrily on the end of a stick.  There was no bread to keep the grilled sea pigeon company, but Bobby did not mind in the least.  Indeed, this lack of variety was no hardship.  He often dined upon meat alone, and now he was thankful enough to have the sea pigeons, or indeed anything.

But almost before his supper was cooked the little fire, deluged with clouds of snow, dried out and refused to burn, and it became evident to Bobby that he must face the night without fire, and resort to other means to protect himself in his narrow quarters from freezing.  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.”

It was dark, and he struck a match to investigate, and sure enough, every chink and crevice, even his door, was packed with snow, and not a breath of air stirred within.  Gradually the sound of the shrieking wind and pounding sea seemed farther and farther away, and he heard it as one hears something in the distance.

“Mother’s going to be scared for me,” he mused, as he rearranged his bed of boughs.  “She’ll think I’m lost, and I’m sorry.  She’ll be all right when I get home, though.  It is a fine mess to get into.”

Then his thoughts turned to Abel Zachariah and Skipper Ed and Jimmy, somewhere out on the coast and weathering the same storm.  But they had a tent and a stove, and they would be comfortable enough, he had no doubt.