"I've heard the old Squire say that one sometimes comes in Maine, when there is a great winter thaw." The deep jar and tremor gave us a strange sense of insecurity and terror; there seemed to be no telling what might happen next.
Accordingly, we abandoned our moist den and set off in the rain.

We went halfway to our knees at every step in the now soft, slushy snow.

Addison went ahead with the hatchet, spotting a tree every hundred feet or so, and I followed in his tracks, carrying the basket and the gun.

In fifteen minutes we were wet to our skins.
For three or four miles we were uncertain of our course.

The forest then lightened ahead, and presently we came out on the shore of a small lake that looked yellow over its whole surface.
"Good!" Addison exclaimed.