A SNUG REFUGE The weather had suddenly become intensely cold, and Bobby's wet clothing was already stiff with ice.

The northeast wind, laden with Arctic frost, swept the island with withering blasts, and cut to the bone.
The wind was rising, too, and there was no doubt that with darkness it would attain the velocity of a gale, and the storm the proportions of a sub-Arctic blizzard.

Snow was already falling heavily, and presently it would be driving and swirling in dense, suffocating clouds.

Winter had fallen like a thunderbolt from heaven.
But Bobby never permitted himself to worry needlessly.

He was not one of those who with the least difficulty plunge into unnecessary discouragement and lose their capacity for action.