fact, Eskimo children seldom do so in the company of their elders.
They are prone to listen, and gaze, and swallow, (mentally), and to
reply only when questioned. But they seem to consider themselves free
to laugh at will--hence Pussi's explosion.

"Well, then," continued Mrs Okiok good-naturedly, "I will tell you
again. The Kablunet is a fine man. He must be very much finer when he
is fat, for he is broad and tall, and looks strong; but he is thin just
now--oh, so thin!--as thin almost as Ippegoo!"

Ippegoo's mother took this in good part, as, indeed, it was intended.

"But that will soon mend with stuffing," continued Nuna. "And his hair
is brown--not black--and is in little rings; and there is nearly as much
below his nose as above it, so that his mouth can only be seen when
open. He carries needles and soft sinews, too, in his bag; but his
needles are not fish-bones--they are iron; and the sinews are not like
our sinews. They are--I know not what! He has a round thing also, made
of white iron, in his pocket, and it is alive. He says, `No, it is a
dead thing,' but he lies, for one day when he was out I heard it
speaking to itself in a low soft little voice, but I was afraid to touch
it for fear it should bite."

("Lies again!" muttered Issek, the mother of Arbalik, to herself.)

"He says that it tells him about time," continued Nuna; "but how can it
tell him about anything if it is dead? Alive and dead at the same
time!"

"Impossible!" cried Pussimek.

"Ridiculous!" cried every one else.

"Huk!" ejaculated old Kannoa, wrinkling up her mild face and exposing
her toothless gums in a stupendous chuckle.

"Yes, impossible! But I think he does not tell many lies," said Nuna
apologetically. "I think he only does it a little. Then he goes on his
knees every night before lying down, and every morning when he rises,
and speaks to himself."

"Why?" cried every one in blazing astonishment.

"I know not," replied Nuna, "and he does not tell."

"He must be a fool," suggested Kunelik.

"I suppose so," returned Nuna, "yet he does not look like a fool."

At this point the description of Rooney's person and characteristics was
interrupted by a tremendous splash. It was poor Pussi, who, having
grown wearied of the conversation, had slipped from her mother's side,
and while wandering in the background had tumbled into the oil-tub, from
which she quickly emerged gasping, gazing, and glittering.

A mild re