The wind, sweeping down the lake, drove the fine, loose snow before it like smoke from a forest fire.

There was no shelter.

We had to stand out and saw ice in the bitter wind, which seemed to pierce to the very marrow of our bones.

It was impossible to keep a fire; and it always seems colder when you are standing on ice.
It makes me shiver now to think of that week, for it grew colder instead of warmer.

A veritable "cold snap" set in, and never for an hour, night or day, did that bitter wind let up.
We would have quit work and waited for calmer weather,--the old Squire advised us to do so,--but the ice was getting thicker every day.