“Mother, I have been thinking,” said Chingatok, as he crept into his hut and sat down on a raised bench of moss.

 

“That is not news, my son; you think much. You are not like other men. They think little and eat much.”

 

The stout little woman looked up through the smoke of her cooking-lamp and smiled, but her big son was too much absorbed in his thoughts to observe her pleasantry, so she continued the cooking of a walrus chop in silence.

 

“The Kablunets are not to be seen, mother,” resumed Chingatok. “I have looked for them every day for a long time, and begin to weary. My thought is now to launch my kayak when we come to open water, load it with meat, take four spears and more lines than a strong hunter needs for a whole season; then paddle away south to discover the land of the Kablunets. They must be poor; they may be starving. I will guide them to our home, and show them this land of plenty.”

 

He paused abruptly, and looked at his mother with solemn anxiety, for he was well aware that he had given her food for profound reflection.

 

We feel tempted here to repeat our remark about the strong resemblance between different members of the human family, but refrain.

 

This untutored woman of the Arctic lands met her son’s proposition with the well-known reply of many civilised persons.

 

“Of what use would it be, my son? No good can come of searching out these poor lands. You cannot benefit the miserable Kablunets. Perhaps they are savage and fierce; and you are sure to meet with dangers by the way. Worse—you may die!”

 

“Mother,” returned Chingatok, “when the white bear stands up with his claws above my head and his mouth a-gape, does my hand tremble or my spear fail?”

 

“No, my son.”

 

“Then why do you speak to me of danger and death?”

 

Toolooha was not gifted with argumentative powers. She relapsed into silence and lamp-smoke.

 

But her son was not to be so easily dissuaded. He adopted a line of reasoning which never failed.

 

“Mother,” he said, sadly, “it may be that you are right, and I am of too fearful a spirit to venture far away from you by myself; I will remain here if you think me a coward.”

 

“Don’t say so, Chingatok. You know what I think. Go, if you must go, but who will hunt for your poor old mother when you are gone?”

 

This was an appeal which the astute little woman knew to be very powerful with her son. She buried her head in the smoke again, and left the question to simmer.

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