ch thing in this world as perfect happiness?"

"No," answered Phil; "only that it is extremely rare. How is it with
you, old man? Does the approaching end of our journey promise you
perfect happiness?"

"No indeed!" cried Serge, vehemently. "In spite of its hardships, I have
enjoyed it too much to be glad that it is nearly ended. But most of all,
Phil, is the fear that its end means a parting from you; for I suppose
you will go right on to San Francisco, while I must stay behind."

"I'm afraid so," admitted Phil. "But, at any rate, old fellow, this
journey has given me one happiness that will last as long as I live, for
it has given me your friendship, and taught me to appreciate it at its
true worth."

"Thank you, Phil," replied Serge, simply. "I value those words from you
more than I should from any one else in the world. Now, I want to tell
you what I have to thank the journey for besides a friendship. I believe
it has shown me what is to be my life-work. You know that missionary at
Anvik said he was more in need of teachers than anything else. While I
don't know very much, I do know more than those Indian and Eskimo boys,
and I did enjoy teaching them. So, if I can get my mother to consent, I
am going back to Anvik as soon as I can and offer my services as a
teacher."

"It is perfectly splendid of you to think of it," cried Phil, heartily,
"and all I can say is that the boys who get you for a teacher are to be
envied."

So late did the lads sit up that night talking over their plans and
hopes that on the following morning the Indians had arrived and were
clamorous for them to start before they were fairly awake. By sunrise
they, together with the three dogs, were embarked in a great long-beaked
and marvellously-carved Chilkat canoe, hewn from a single cedar log, and
painted black. Two of the Indians occupied it with them, while the
others and the sledge went in a second but smaller canoe of the same
ungraceful design as the first.

As with sail set and before the brisk north breeze that ever sweeps down
the glacier the canoes sped away among the ice floes and bergs of the
inlet, our boys cast many a lingering backward glance at the little
cabin that had proved such a haven to them, and at the stupendous
ice-wall gleaming in frozen splendor on their horizon. Under other
conditions they would gladly have staid and explored its mysteries. Now
they rejoiced at leaving it.

So favoring were the winds that they