reached in his pocket

Such were his thoughts, but he did not sit and think them. He was busy all the time they
were passing through his mind. He made a new foundation for a fire, this time in the open,
where no treacherous tree could blot it out. Next, he gathered dry grasses and tiny twigs
from the high-water flotsam. He could not bring his fingers together to pull them out, but
he was able to gather them by the handful. In this way he got many rotten twigs and bits of
green moss that were undesirable, but it was the best he could do. He worked methodically,
even collecting an armful of the larger branches to be used later when the fire gathered
strength. And all the while the dog sat and watched him, a certain yearning wistfulness in
its eyes, for it looked upon him as the fire-provider, and the fire was slow in coming.
When all was ready, the man reached in his pocket for a second piece of birch bark. He knew
the bark was there, and, though he could not feel it with his fingers, he could hear its
crisp rustling as he fumbled for it. Try as he would, he could not clutch hold of it. And
all the time in his consciousness, was the knowledge that each instant his feet were
freezing. This thought tended to put him in a panic, but he fought against it and kept calm.
He pulled on his mittens with his teeth, and threshed his arms back and forth, beating his
hands with all his might against his sides. He did this sitting down, and he stood up to do
it; and all the while the do,g sat in the snow, its wolf-brush of a tail curled around
warmly over its forefeet, its sharp wolf-ears pricked forward intently as it watched the man
And the man, as he beat and threshed with his arms and hands, felt a great surge of envy as
he regarded the creature that was warm ant secure in its natural covering.