The windows of the rooms were so
narrow as to seem only like loopholes. There was a looking glass,
table, chair, and some glazed prints.
A good old woman came to see if we wanted any thing. I thought, as I
stretched myself in the bed, with feathers under me and feathers over
me, what a heaven of rest this place must have seemed to poor
travellers benighted and perishing in the snow. In the morning I
looked out of my loophole on the tall, grim rocks, and a small lake
frozen and covered with snow. "Is this lake always frozen?" said I to
the old serving woman who had come to bring us hot water for washing.
"Sometimes," says she, "about the latter part of August, it is
thawed."
I suppose it thaws the last of August, and freezes the first of
September.
After dressing ourselves we crept down stairs in hopes of finding the
fire which we left the night before in the sitting room. No such
thing. The sun was shining, and it was what was called a warm day,
that is to say, a day when a little thaw trickles down the south side
of snow banks; so the fire was out, and the windows up, and our gay
Augustine friend, coming in, congratulated us on our charming day.
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