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.
Pages:
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252