Once more he became misanthropic. “There’s Miss Raymond, now,” he growled to himself, knocking his head savagely against the upper berth in his attempt to look out through the frosty pane, “sitting over across the aisle day after day with her kid gloves and all that. Nice enough, of course,” recalling one or two spirited conversations where hours had slipped by like minutes, “but confoundedly useless like the rest of ’em. If she were like mother, now, there’d be no trouble. She’d take care of herself. But as it is, the whole car will be turned upside down for her to-day, for fear she’ll freeze or starve or spoil her complexion, or something.” Here Bob turned an extremely cold shoulder on the window, and having performed a sort of horizontal toilet, emerged from his berth, his hair on end, and his face expressive of utter defiance to the world in general and contempt of fashionable young ladies in particular. At that moment Miss Raymond appeared in the aisle, sweet and rosy as a June morning, her cheeks glowing and her eyes sparkling with fun. “Good-morning, Mr. Estabrook,” she said demurely, settling the fur collar about her neck. Bob endeavored to look dignified and was conscious of failure. “Good mo-morning,” he replied with some stiffness, and a shiver which took him by surprise. It was cold, jumping out of that warm berth. “I understand we must stay--but don’t let me detain you,” she added with a sly glance at his hair. Bob turned and marched off solemnly to the masculine end of the car, washed in ice-water, completed his toilet, and came back refreshed. Breakfast was formally served as usual, and then a council of war was held. Conductor, engineers, and brakemen being consulted, and inventories taken, it was found that while food was abundant, the stock of wood in the bins would not last till noon. There were twelve railroad men and thirty-five passengers on board, some twenty of the latter being emigrants in a second-class behind the two Pullmans. The little company gathered in the snow-bound car looked blankly at each other, some of them instinctively drawing their wraps more tightly about their shoulders, as if they already felt the approaching chill. It was miles to the nearest station in either direction. Above, below, on all sides, was the white blur of tumultuous, wind-lashed snow. The silence was broken pleasantly. Once more Bob felt the power of those clear, sweet tones. “The men must make up a party to hunt for wood,” she said. “While you’re gone we women will do what we can for those who are left.” The necessity for immediate action was evident, and without further words the council broke up, to obey her suggestion.