y are childish thoughts," replied the Eskimo.

"What, then, are your thoughts about these stars and streaming lights?"
persisted the seaman, who was anxious to understand more of the mind of
his philosophical companion.

"I know not what I think. When I try to think on these things my mind
gets confused. Only this am I sure of--that they are, they must be, the
wonderful works of the Good Spirit."

"But how do you know that?" asked Rooney.

Angut looked at his questioner very earnestly for a few moments.

"How does Ridroonee know that he is alive?" he asked abruptly.

"Oh, as to that, you know, everything tells me that I am alive. I look
around, and I see. I listen, and I hear. I think, and I understand--
leastwise to some extent,--and I _feel_ in mind and heart."

"Now will I answer," said Angut. "Everything tells me that the Great
Spirit is good, and the Maker of all things. I look, and I see Him in
the things that exist. I listen, and I hear Him in the whispering wind,
in the running water, in the voice of man and beast. I think, and I
understand Him to some extent, and I _feel_ Him both in mind and heart."

"I believe you are right, Angut, and your words bring strongly to my
remembrance many of the words of the Great Spirit that my mother used to
teach me when I was a little boy."

From this point in the conversation Angut became the questioner, being
anxious to know all that the Kablunet had to tell about the mysterious
Book, of which he had spoken to him more than once, and the teachings of
his mother.

It was long past midnight when the descending moon warned them to turn
their steps towards the ice-cave where they had left their slumbering
companions.

"The frost is sharp to-night," remarked Rooney as they were about to
enter.

Angut turned round, and cast a parting glance on sea and sky.

"If it holds on like this," continued the sailor, "the ice will be firm
enough to carry us to land in the morning."

"It will not hold on like this," said Angut. "The Innuit are very
ignorant, but they know many things about the weather, for they are
always watching it. To-morrow will be warm. We cannot escape. It will
be safest and wisest to remain where we are."

"Remaining means starving," said the sailor in a desponding tone.

"It may be so; we cannot tell," returned the Eskimo.

With these uncomfortable reflections, the two men entered the cavern
quietly, so as not to disturb their comrades