I was too weary to pay much heed to his rattling talk. I know that the fire as it blazed up more strongly and brightly, triumphing over the soaked twigs and branches which my father had scrambled together, thawed my limbs deliciously. And soon I was in a glow of steamy warmth, and nodded sleepily, while my father, still chatting in his restless way, prepared some soup. The hot savoury stuff was the last touch necessary to complete comfort, and forgetting with the ease of childhood the dreary tramp through the storm I gave myself up unresistingly to the luxury of sleep. But my sleep wasn't completely unbroken. It seemed to surge over me like great waves, and whenever I floated up to the surface I became aware of my father's voice still droning out the story of our flight. He must have been talking to prevent himself from sleeping, for once I seem to remember hearing him muttering, "I must keep awake, I must keep awake," and sometimes when I awoke from my doze he was pacing the hut, or turning the clothes before the fire. I had one longer spell of wakefulness while it was still dark. The wind had dropped, and my father had ceased to prattle. The complete silence, together with the cutting pressure of cold air against my cheek, had probably aroused me more alertly than usual, for of a sudden I felt wide-awake. I looked round for my father, but he wasn't in the hut. The lantern was no longer alight, and the fire was smouldering low. The door stood open, and the utter blackness of the woodland seemed banked up against it like a barricade. For a moment the fear of loneliness was upon me, and I would have cried out, but just then my father returned with a bundle of faggots, which he tossed on to the failing fire. There was a smother of smoke and steam and a loud hissing, before the red flames broke through again. "What! Awake, Tommy?" said my father, seeing me rub my eyes, which were smarting from the fumes. "Awake, daddy," I said, blinking up at him with a smile. He shut the door, and carefully secured it with a stout piece of timber. I noticed too that he had hung his cloak, now dry, over the little solitary pane of glass which was all the hut possessed in the way of a window. "Time to dress, Tommy," he said, helping me pull on my stockings, which were almost toasted by the fire and felt comfortingly warm. I reached for my shirt and breeches, and slowly drew them on, my eyes half shut, for I would willingly have lain down again for a further spell of sleep. I pushed my arms into my jacket, and looking round for my cloak saw it hanging on the wall opposite the door. I was rising to get it when my father said, "Ah, not that just yet. We won't start till morning, but best be ready." He added, "There's a big hole there, Tommy. Keeping out the wind; the cold wind, Tommy, with the sharp white teeth. It's there behind your cloak, all ready to bite."