There was no other sound in all the night-bound
world, save once the crisp, sharp bark of a fox came across the water
from the dense, dark riparian forests. The mists possessed all the upper
atmosphere, but following the boat were white undiscriminated
presentments on the sombre surface of the river, elusive in the vapor and
suggestive of something swimming in pursuit. Once Archie pointed his
mittened hand at this foaming wake, but the question died on his lips as
the dank autumnal air buffeted his chill cheek. He shivered in his thin
little white linen dress, meant for indoor wear only, with its smart red
leather belt clasped low and loose about it, and the hardship of cold and
hunger tamed him. He was glad to nestle close to the pasty-faced Holvey,
who had not yet recovered the normal glow of complexion, and to stick his
yellow head under the moonshiner's arm for warmth while he steered the
craft. Indeed, when the boat was at length run into one of the small,
untenanted islands and the party disembarked, the little boy began to
chirp genially and to laugh for joy as a fire was kindled amidst the
rocks and brush of the interior, invisible from the shores.
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