s
book "Farthest North," which Grenfell had been reading only a few days
before. It might be a hard battle to conquer one of the big dogs, as
he himself grew weaker. But fear had not once entered the Doctor's
mind. His uppermost sensation now was a desire to sleep--and if death
came after that, it would only be the answer to a question he had many
times asked himself.

He looked at the precious matches, to see if they were dry. The heads
were a paste, except the blue tips of three or four wax matches. If
the latter could be dried, they might be used. Once I gave Dr.
Grenfell a bottle of the same kind of matches, and he said: "I'd
rather have those than a five-dollar bill." If no air is stirring they
will burn with a tall, strong flame for a minute or more, clean down
to the bottom.

He laid the matches out to dry, and looked about for a piece of
transparent ice which would do for a burning glass. With the tow he
had stuffed into his leggings, and the fat from the slain dogs, he
thought he could produce a plume of smoke to be seen from the land,
if he could get a light. He found a piece of ice which he thought
would serve his purpose, and was just about to wave his "flag" again
when he saw something that made his heart stand still for an instant.

Was it--could it be--the glitter of an oar-blade rising and falling?

But no--it could not be. It was not clear water, but the "slob ice,"
probably too heavy for a rowboat to pierce, which lay between the pan
and the beach. There had been no smoke-signal from the land, no gun
discharged, no fire kindled: one of these things would be sure to
happen, had anybody caught sight of him or of the unwieldy banner that
he had raised aloft so many times.

By this time Grenfell was partly snow-blind, for he had lost his dark
glasses. As he raised his "flag" again, however, it seemed to him that
the glitter was more distinct. It seemed to be coming nearer. With his
hopes now mounting, he lifted the skins as high as he could, and waved
with all his might. Now he could see not only a white oar-blade, but a
black hull. If the pan would hold together an hour more, his rescue
was assured.

Queer tricks the mind of a man will play at such a time. Our boys in
the war thought so much of saving helmets, pistols and belt-buckles
from the battlefields that it has been said the war was fought for
souvenirs. Even in the hospital where they lay suffering with the most
dreadful wounds, they were