“I wonder if it is nearly day yet. I do not in the least know how long we have slept. I wonder if my watch is going. I forgot to wind it up last night. If it has stopped I shall know it is near daylight.” He held his watch to his ear: alas! it was ticking vigorously. He felt for the keyhole, and wound it up. After that we employed ourselves in repeating as many of the metrical psalms and paraphrases of Scripture as we could recollect, and this helped away a good part of the weary time. But it went very slowly, and I was growing so cold that I could hardly bear it. “I’m afraid you feel very cold, Ranald,” said my father, folding me closer in his arms. “You must try not to go to sleep again, for that would be dangerous now. I feel more cramped than cold.” As he said this, he extended his legs and threw his head back, to get rid of the uneasiness by stretching himself. The same moment, down came a shower of peats upon our heads and bodies, and when I tried to move, I found myself fixed. I could not help laughing. “Father,” I cried, as soon as I could speak, “you’re like Samson: you’ve brought down the house upon us.” “So I have, my boy. It was very thoughtless of me. I don’t know what we _are_ to do now.” “Can you move, father? _I_ can’t,” I said. “I can move my legs, but I’m afraid to move even a toe in my boot for fear of bringing down another avalanche of peats. But no--there’s not much danger of that: they are all down already, for I feel the snow on my face.” With hands and feet my father struggled, but could not do much, for I lay against him under a great heap. His struggles made an opening sideways however. “Father! father! shout,” I cried. “I see a light somewhere; and I think it is moving.” We shouted as loud as we could, and then lay listening. My heart beat so that I was afraid I should not hear any reply that might come. But the next moment it rang through the frosty air. “It’s Turkey! That’s Turkey, father!” I cried. “I know his shout. He makes it go farther than anybody else.--Turkey! Turkey!” I shrieked, almost weeping with delight. Again Turkey’s cry rang through the darkness, and the light drew wavering nearer. “Mind how you step, Turkey,” cried my father. “There’s a hole you may tumble into.” “It wouldn’t hurt him much in the snow,” I said. “Perhaps not, but he would probably lose his light, and that we can hardly afford.” “Shout again,” cried Turkey. “I can’t make out where you are.” My father shouted. “Am I coming nearer to you now?” “I can hardly say. I cannot see well. Are you going along the road?” “Yes. Can’t you come to me?” “Not yet. We can’t get out. We’re upon your right hand, in a peat-stack.” “Oh! I know the peat-stack. I’ll be with you in a moment.”