The snow, which had come on again, was whispering in the trees when I entered among them, groping in the thick darkness for his recumbent form. It sifted straight down through the still air, while the wind shrieked and roared overhead. He called feebly when I came close to him in my blind search. “Well, how goes it?” I inquired, with seeming cheerfulness. “I think I’m better.” This through chattering teeth. “But I’m aw-aw-awfully cold.” “Get up. I’ll help you.” “I-I-I don’t want to.” “But you can’t stay here,” I protested. “You’d be frozen stiff before morning. We’ve got to get back to that barn we passed.” “A-a-aren’t you going to lie down, too? We might keep each other warm.” “No, I’m not,” very emphatically. “Get up, d’you hear, get up!” Partly by sheer force I got him out of the thing we had bought for a sleeping-bag. Already the wet had penetrated in places. While Wallace stood leaning against a tree, I groped round for our knapsacks. Carrying the double burden, which privilege cost me another struggle with Wallace, I led back over the ground which we had covered on our way up, my friend lurching drunkenly by my side. Then he fell and lay in a faint, but recovered quickly. After I had got him on his feet again, I kept his arm, supporting him as much as I could. Every few hundred steps or so he half collapsed, his knees doubling under him. When this happened I let him slide to the ground, thus to get some rest. I do not know how often this had occurred when I noticed something wrong about the road. The clearing on the left, with stumps standing black against white snow patches--surely I could not have twice missed noticing it! The ground, too, fell rather sharply. “Traveling toward the Wesel road!” I thought. “I remember no villages there, if I recollect the map.” Wallace had been sitting on the ground all this time. I helped him to his feet and urged him on: “We’ve got to be traveling! Up hill now! Awfully sorry, old chap, but I missed the road.” Three rests, and the old track was under our feet. Three more, and we were drawing near to the little settlement. “It’ll not be very long now, old man; cheer up!” I said encouragingly. “Mus’ get into warmth. Knock first house come to. Can’t stick it,” Wallace muttered in reply. “Try to make that barn, won’t you? It’s close by.” We came abreast of a house with a light in the passage, which showed dimly through some panes of glass above the front door. The time must have been about 2:30 A.M. Wallace stopped and peered at it. “Is that a house?” “Yes.” “Knock!” and with a contented sigh he slid to the ground. I was not prepared to give up so soon. That is what his command meant, as it appeared to me. My pal moved and struggled into a sitting position. “Knock!” he repeated.