But one
day of the baby's presence he had taken, with the excuse that it
needed immediate warmth and wholesome food. His conscience did
not trouble him over that short delay, for he was honest enough
in his intentions and convinced that he had done the right thing.
Cash had long ago undressed and gone to bed, turning his back
to the warm, fire-lighted room and pulling the blankets up to his
ears. He either slept or pretended to sleep, Bud did not know
which. Of the baby's healthy slumber there was no doubt at all.
Bud put on his overshoes and went outside after more wood, so
that there would be no delay in starting the fire in the morning
and having the cabin warm before the baby woke.
It was snowing fiercely, and the wind was biting cold. Already
the woodpile was drifted under, so that Bud had to go back and
light the lantern and hang it on a nail in the cabin wall before
he could make any headway at shovelling off the heaped snow and
getting at the wood beneath. He worked hard for half an hour, and
carried in all the wood that had been cut. He even piled Cash's
end of the hearth high with the surplus, after his own side was
heaped full.
A storm like that meant that plenty of fuel would be needed to
keep the cabin snug and warm, and he was thinking of the baby's
comfort now, and would not be hampered by any grudge.
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