The winters in the latitude of Sullivan's Island are seldom very
severe, and in the fall of the year it is a rare event indeed when
a fire is considered necessary. About the middle of October, 18--,
there occurred, however, a day of remarkable chilliness. Just
before sunset I scrambled my way through the evergreens to the hut
of my friend, whom I had not visited for several weeks--my
residence being, at that time, in Charleston, a distance of nine
miles from the island, while the facilities of passage and
repassage were very far behind those of the present day. Upon
reaching the hut I rapped, as was my custom, and getting no reply,
sought for the key where I knew it was secreted, unlocked the door,
and went in. A fine fire was blazing upon the hearth. It was a
novelty, and by no means an ungrateful one. I threw off an
overcoat, took an armchair by the crackling logs, and awaited
patiently the arrival of my hosts.
Soon after dark they arrived, and gave me a most cordial welcome.
Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about to prepare some
marsh hens for supper.
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