The poor girl was despoiled of her gown and upper petticoat, with every decency, and also buried.

We collected the clothes and stilts, and removed to another quarter of the wood, where we found a well-sheltered spot, and took our meal.

As we did not travel that night as usual, we had to prepare our own bed.

We scraped away the snow, and made ourselves as comfortable as we could without a fire, but the weather was dreadful.
"Peter," said O'Brien, "I'm melancholy.

Here, drink plenty;" and he handed me the flask of spirits, which had never been empty.
"Drink more, Peter." "I cannot, O'Brien, without being tipsy." "Never mind that, drink more; see how these two poor devils lost their lives by falling asleep in the snow.