Our first problem was to decide which end we should close and which should be our door. The arguments in favour of an entrance at the west end were plausible and numerous. The east opening, being the smaller, would require less work to close it, and a fireplace could easily be built in it. The west entrance would give us plenty of light, whereas if we went to the great labour of closing it we should make the cave almost pitch dark. It was difficult to creep in at the east end without hitting one’s head against a jagged edge of rock. And finally, the west end looked forth on high and rugged hills whose soaring peaks were never seen without some exaltation of spirit, whereas the eastern view was drear, grey, flat and immeasurably depressing whenever a cloud went over the sun.

In fact all our wishes were for the west door, with hills and the sunset before us, and it required strong reasons to make us even consider the merits of an east door. They were prosaic merits. Obviously the larger the door the greater the draught it must admit. We dare not let summer cheat us, we must not prefer light to warmth. The prevailing wind in this country was west or south-west. It brought most of the rain; east winds though bitter were dry. Snow storms came from the south. The break in the rock would help to deflect the weather from the narrow east entrance. We expected that it would be easy to make a door for the east opening. And since we meant to build a fireplace in the cave it was wiser to build it at the broad west end where Terry could move about freely when she was cooking. Finally, a small entrance could be camouflaged; it was unlikely to attract attention; it was only a few paces from the east end of the cave to our water-pool, a grave consideration in winter. ‘The cave will be dark all the time, Hugh,’ Terry said when we came to a loath decision about the door. ‘We should have brought candles.’

‘We’ll not be living inside much except for meals and when we sleep until bad weather comes,’ I replied. ‘People used to make candles of sheep’s tallow. I wonder would deer-fat serve the same purpose? Of course we have bog-fir to make torches but they’re smoky and bothersome.’

‘We should try for a stag shortly,’ she went on. ‘I think it would be a wise idea to salt some venison before we commence working on the cave. It’ll be a nuisance and a hindrance if we have to interrupt our work and break up our time hunting for food. Can we salt meat just now, Hugh? Will it keep?’

‘Perfectly,’ I assured her.