ly; "why should we want
things that we never had, and don't need? Listen to me, young men--for
I see by your looks that some of you would like a little fighting,--even
if we had the spouting things, we could not make them spout."

"That is a lie!" exclaimed Gartok, with the simple straightforwardness
peculiar to the uncivilised. "Once I met one of the Fire-spouters when
I was out hunting at the Whale River. He was alone, and friendly. I
asked him to show me his spouter. He did so, but told me to be very
careful, for sometimes it spouted of its own accord. He showed me the
way to make it spout--by touching a little thing under it. There was a
little bird on a bush close by. `Point at that,' he said. I pointed.
`Now,' said he, `look along the spouter with one eye.' I put one end of
it against my cheek and tried to look, but by accident I touched the
little thing, and it spouted too soon! I never saw the little bird
again; but I saw many stars, though it was broad daylight at the time."

"Ho! hoo!" exclaimed several of the younger men, who listened to this
narration with intense eagerness.

"Yes," continued Gartok, who had the gift of what is called "the gab,"
and was fond of exercising it,--"yes; it knocked me flat on my back--"

"Was it alive, then?" asked Anteek, who mingled that day with the men as
an equal, in consequence of his having slain a walrus single-handed.

"No, it was not quite, but it was very nearly alive.--Well, when I fell
the man laughed. You know his people are not used to laugh. They are
very grave, but this one laughed till I became angry, and I would have
fought with him, but--"

"Ay," interrupted Anteek, "but you were afraid, for he had the spouter."

Before Gartok could reply Mangivik broke in.

"Boo!" he exclaimed contemptuously, "it is of no use your talking so
much. I too have been to the Whale River, and have seen the
fire-spouters, and I know they are _not_ nearly alive. They are dead--
quite dead. Moreover, they will not spout at all, and are quite
useless, unless they are filled with a kind of black sand which is
supplied by the white men who sell the spouters. Go to the Whale River
if you will, but don't fight with any one--that is my advice, and my
hair is grey."

"It is white, old man, if you only saw it," murmured Anteek, with native
disrespect. He was too good-natured, however, to let his thoughts be
heard.

"Come, Oolalik," said Mangivik, "you are a stout