rs arrived he was lying in
his hut groaning heavily; but no one knew what state he was in, for they
still feared to disturb him.

No such fear affected Hans Egede. Knowing that he could point to the
only remedy for sin and broken hearts, he went straight into the poor
man's hut. Shortly afterwards the groaning ceased, and the natives
listened with awe to what they knew was the voice of prayer. As they
could not, however, distinguish the words, they gradually drew off, and
circled round the strangers who had so unexpectedly arrived.

Great was their surprise when they found that their comrade Kajo had
been brought home as a prisoner; and still greater was their surprise
when they found that a bottle of rum which had been stolen from one of
their hunters, and carried off the day before, was found on the person
of Kajo--for Kajo had been, like Mangek, a respectable man up to that
date, and no one believed it possible that he would condescend to steal.

One of those who was himself under the influence of rum at the time
looked sternly at Kajo, and began to abuse him as a hypocrite and
deceiver.

"Now, look here," cried Red Rooney, stepping forward; "listen to me."

Having regard to his commanding look and tone, the natives considered
him the leader of the party, and listened with respect.

"What right have _you_," he continued, turning sharply on the last
speaker, "to look with contempt on Kajo? You have been drinking mad
water yourself. I smell it in your breath. If you were to take a
little more, you would be quite ready to commit murder."

"No, I would not," replied the Eskimo stoutly.

"Yes, you would," said the sailor, still more stoutly. "Even my
good-natured friend Okiok here would be ready to murder his wife Nuna if
he was full of mad water."

This unexpected statement took our kindly Eskimo so much by surprise
that for a moment or two he could not speak. Then he thundered forth--

"Never! What! kill Nuna? If I was stuffed with mad water from the toes
to the eyelids, I _could_ not kill Nuna."

At that moment an aged Eskimo pressed to the front. Tears were on his
wrinkled cheeks, as he said, in a quavering voice--

"Yes, you _could_, my son. The wife of Mangek was my dear child. No
man ever loved his wife better than Mangek loved my child. He would
have killed himself sooner than he would have killed her. But Mangek
did not kill her. It was the mad water that killed her. He did not
know