Morning, noon
That was a winter of big snow . November opened with rain . Day after day the sun hid his face behind massed , spitting clouds . Morning , noon , and night the eaves of the shacks dripped steadily , the gaunt limbs of the hardwoods were a line of coursing drops , and through all the vast reaches of fir and cedar the patter of rain kept up a dreary monotone . Whenever the mist that blew like rolling smoke along the mountains lifted for a brief hour , there , creeping steadily downward , lay the banked white . Rain or shine , the work drove on . From the peep of day till dusk shrouded the woods , Benton 's donkey puffed and groaned , axes thudded , the thin , twanging whine of the saws rose .