It was an outlandish name to give it, seems to me, anyway. I don't know what a Goth is, Johnny; maybe you do. There was a great figger up on the rock, about eight feet high; some folks thought it looked like a man. I never thought so before, but that night it did kind of stare in through the door as natural as life. When I woke up in the morning I thought I was on fire. I stirred and turned over, and I was ice. My tongue was swollen up so I couldn't swallow without strangling. I crawled up to my feet, and every bone in me was stiff as a shingle. Bess was looking hard at me, whinnying for her breakfast. "Bess," says I, very slow, "we must get home--to-night--_any_--how." I pushed open the door. It creaked out into a great drift, and slammed back. I squeezed through and limped out. The shanty stood up a little, in the highest part of the Goth. I went down a little,--I went as far as I could go. There was a pole lying there, blown down in the night; it came about up to my head. I sunk it into the snow, and drew it up. Just six feet. I went back to Bess and Beauty, and I shut the door. I told them I couldn't help it,--something ailed my arms,--I couldn't shovel them out to-day. I must lie down and wait till to-morrow. I waited till to-morrow. It snowed all day, and it snowed all night. It was snowing when I pushed the door out again into the drift. I went back and lay down. I didn't seem to care. The third day the sun came out, and I thought about Nannie. I was going to surprise her. She would jump up and run and put her arms about my neck. I took the shovel, and crawled out on my hands and knees. I dug it down, and fell over on it like a baby. After that, I understood. I'd never had a fever in my life, and it's not strange that I shouldn't have known before. It came all over me in a minute, I think. I couldn't shovel through. Nobody could hear. I might call, and I might shout. By and by the fire would go out. Nancy would not come. Nancy did not know. Nancy and I should never kiss and make up now. I struck my arm out into the air, and shouted out her name, and yelled it out. Then I crawled out once more into the drift. I tell you, Johnny, I was a stout-hearted man, who'd never known a fear. I could freeze. I could burn up there alone in the horrid place with fever. I could starve. It wasn't death nor awfulness I couldn't face,--not that, not _that_; but I loved her true, I say,--I loved her true, and I'd spoken my last words to her, my very last; I had left her _those_ to remember, day in and day out, and year upon year, as long as she remembered her husband, as long as she remembered anything. I think I must have gone pretty nearly mad with the fever and the thinking. I fell down there like a log, and lay groaning. "God Almighty! God Almighty!" over and over, not knowing what it was that I was saying, till the words strangled in my throat.