The cold was bitter and terrible that day. The men on snowshoes were
comfortable enough with their hard exercise, but it was almost
impossible to keep poor Ambrose from freezing in spite of heavy
covering. Now and again his father had to remove the moccasins from
Ambrose's feet and rub them briskly with bare hands to restore
circulation. He even removed the warm mittens from his own hands and
gave them to Ambrose to pull on over the ones he already wore.
At midday a halt was made to "boil the kettle," and by the side of the
big fire that was built in the shelter of the forest Ambrose was
restored to comparative comfort. On the trail again it was colder than
ever in the afternoon, and they thought the lad, though he never once
uttered a complaint, would freeze before they could reach the cabin
that was to shelter them for the night. At last the cabin was reached.
A fire was hurriedly built in the stove, and with much rubbing of
hands and legs and feet, and a roaring fire, he was made so
comfortable that he could eat, and a fine supper they had for him.
At the place where they stopped the previous night Doctor Grenfell had
mentioned that the oven that sat on the stove in this cabin, was worn
out.
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