He crossed a brook, frozen almost solidly in its
bed, and he saw two or three large mounds that had been
haystacks, now covered with snow.
Then he slid without noise back to the nearest of the houses from
which the smoke came. It was rather more pretentious than the
others, built of planks instead of logs, and with shingles for a
roof. The remains of a small portico formed the approach to the
front door. Henry supposed that the house had been set on fire
and that perhaps a heavy rain had saved a part of it.
A bar of light falling across the snow attracted his attention.
He knew that it was the glow of a fire within coming through a
window. A faint sound of voices reached his ears, and he moved
forward slowly to the window. It was an oaken shutter originally
fastened with a leather strap, but the strap was gone, and now
some one had tied it, though not tightly, with a deer tendon.
The crack between shutter and wall was at least three inches, and
Henry could see within very well.
He pressed his side tightly to the wall and put his eyes to the
crevice. What he saw within did not still any of those primitive
feelings that had risen so strongly in his breast.
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