is discovered by young Chester, who is standing near by, and the
thief caught in the very act. On the stolen article being taken from
under the pilferer's shoulder-patch of seal-skin, where he had
dexterously secreted it, he breaks out into a laugh, pretending to pass
it off as a joke. In this sense the castaways are pleased to interpret
it, or to make show of so interpreting it, for the sake of keeping on
friendly terms with him. Indeed, but that the knife is a serviceable
tool, almost essential to them, he would be permitted to retain it; and,
by way of smoothing matters over, a brass button is given him instead,
with which he goes on his way rejoicing.

"The old shark would steal the horns off a goat, ef they warn't well
fixed in," is Seagriff's remark, as he stands looking after their
departing visitor. "Howsoever, let's hope they may be content wi'
stealin', and not take to downright robbery, or worse. We'll hev to
keep watch all night, anyway, ez thar's no tellin' what they may be up
to. _They_ never sleep. They're perfect weasels."

And all night watch is kept, with a large fire ablaze, there being now
no reason for letting it go out. Two of the party act as sentinels at a
time, another pair taking their place. But indeed, throughout most of
the night, all are wakeful, slumber being denied them by the barking of
the dogs, and yelling of the savages, who, making good Seagriff's words,
seem as though sleep were a luxury they had no wish to indulge in. And
something seems to have made them merry, also. Out of their wigwams
issue sounds of boisterous hilarity, as though they were celebrating
some grand festival, with now and then a peal of laughter that might
have proceeded from the lungs of a stentor. Disproportionate as is the
great strength of a Fuegian to his little body, his voice is even more
so; this is powerful beyond belief, and so loud as to be audible at
almost incredible distances. Such a racket as these wild merry-makers
within the wigwams are keeping up might well prevent the most weary of
civilised mortals from even once closing his eyes in sleep. And the
uproar lasts till daylight.

But what the cause of their merriment may be, or what it means, or how
they can be merry at all under such circumstances, is to the castaways
who listen anxiously to their hoarse clamour, a psychological puzzle
defying explanation. Huddled together like pigs in a pen, and surely
less comfortable in the mi