The narrow confines of their house would soon grow irksome to five able-bodied boys and men, and every one of them knew it.

They went forth with rude wooden shovels, and began to clear paths in the snow--one to a point among the trees where the fallen brushwood lay thickest, another to the edge of the lake, where they broke holes in the ice and caught pickerel, and two or three more to various points around their little domain.

This task gave them healthy occupation for two or three days, and on the fourth day, while Henry, Ross, and Jim Hart were fishing, Paul and Shif'less Sol sat together in the house.
"This snow is goin' to last a long time, Paul," said Sol, "an' we've got to stay here till at least most o' it's gone.

The warriors won't be movin', nor will we.

While we're idlin', I wish we had three or four o' them books that your father an' Mr.Pennypacker brought over the mountains with 'em." "So do I," said Paul, with a sigh.