head, hitherto sufficient, failing to break the crust, he delivered two more blows in quick succession; and when these proved of no effect, he saw his danger, and hurried to the next vent-hole, hard by a frozen-in trimmer. One blow, and only one, did he give; then he dropped the pike, and with lightning-like strokes of his powerful hind-legs made for the open water. It was a race for life, and he knew it. His lungs ached for want of air; again and again in the next few seconds—seconds that seemed hours—he was on the point of opening his mouth and throat to find an impossible relief, but he forbore, holding on his desperate way, till presently he shot from under the ice-roof and drew breath again in the frosty air. He had escaped drowning, but only to be confronted the very next night with difficulties even more aggravated.
The cold had then reached its greatest intensity. The marshman was conscious of its severity as he sat by the fire, listening to the honking of the geese and the trumpeting of the swans—rare sounds, that were music to the aged wild-fowler, and kept him to the chimney-corner later than his wont. Yet at daybreak he was at his lattice to get a view of the overnight arrivals. To his amazement, not a living thing could he see. He
