uld celebrate Christmas, not so much by a feast of reason as by a
flow of soul and a bang-up dinner, to be followed by speeches and some
sort of cheerful entertainment.

"We're goin' to lay ourselves out on this entertainment," said the Boy,
with painful misgivings as to the "bang-up dinner."

Every time the banquet was mentioned somebody was sure to say, "Well,
anyhow, there's Potts's cake," and that reflection never failed to
raise the tone of expectation, for Potts's cake was a beauty, evidently
very rich and fruity, and fitted by Nature to play the noble part of
plum-pudding. But, in making out the bill of fare, facts had to be
faced. "We've got our everyday little rations of beans and bacon, and
we've got Potts's cake, and we've got one skinny ptarmigan to make a
banquet for six hungry people!"

"But we'll have a high old time, and if the bill o' fare is a little
... restricted, there's nothin' to prevent our programme of toasts,
songs, and miscellaneous contributions from bein' rich and varied."

"And one thing we can get, even up here"--the Colonel was looking at
Kaviak--"and that's a little Christmas-tree."

"Y-yes," said Potts, "you can get a little tree, but you can't get the
smallest kind of a little thing to hang on it."

"Sh!" said the Boy, "it must be a surprise."

And he took steps that it should be, for he began stealing away
Kaviak's few cherished possessions--his amulet, his top from under the
bunk, his boats from out the water-bucket, wherewith to mitigate the
barrenness of the Yukon tree, and to provide a pleasant surprise for
the Esquimer who mourned his playthings as gone for ever. Of an evening
now, after sleep had settled on Kaviak's watchful eyes, the Boy worked
at a pair of little snow-shoes, helped out by a ball of sinew he had
got from Nicholas. Mac bethought him of the valuable combination of
zoological and biblical instruction that might be conveyed by means of
a Noah's Ark. He sat up late the last nights before the 25th,
whittling, chipping, pegging in legs, sharpening beaks, and inking
eyes, that the more important animals might be ready for the Deluge by
Christmas.

The Colonel made the ark, and O'Flynn took up a collection to defray
the expense of the little new mucklucks he had ordered from Nicholas.
They were to come "_sure_ by Christmas Eve," and O'Flynn was in what he
called "a froightful fanteeg" as the short day of the 24th wore towards
night, and never a sign of the one-