All of these thoughts passed through Bobby's mind as he lay in the dense darkness of his den. But he was young and he was optimistic, and disturbing thoughts presently gave way to a picture of the snug little cabin at the head of Abel's Bay and of its roaring fire in the big box stove, and with the picture the sound of the storm drew farther and farther away until it became at last one of Mrs. Abel's quaint Eskimo lullabies, that she crooned to him when he was little, and Bobby slept.