wringer; that's got
a lot of wood in it. And there's an old paper bucket. That'll burn.
There's a lot of things like that. It won't take any time at all to
get enough wood to cook our duck!"

"A fire! A fire!" exclaimed Marian, jumping up and down in a wild
dance. Then, seized with Lucile's spell of practical philosophy, she
grasped a rusty tin kettle.

"We can cook it in this. There's a hole in it, but we can draw a cloth
into that, and we can scour it up with ashes."

The next few minutes echoed with glad exclamations: "Here's an old
fork!" "Here's half a sack of salt!" "Here are two rusty spoons!"
"Here's a broiler," and so it went on.

One would have believed they were in the greatest department store in
the land, with the privilege of carrying away anything that would fit
in their kitchen and that suited their fancy. Truth was, they were
rummaging over the city of Nome's vast garbage pile. That garbage pile
had been accumulated during the previous year, and was, at this time,
several hundred miles from the city. During the long nine months of
winter the water about Nome is frozen solid some two miles out to sea.
All garbage and junk is hauled out upon the ice with dog-teams and
dumped there. When spring comes the ice loosens from the shore, and,
laden with its great cargo of unwanted things, carries it through
Bering Straits to haunt the Arctic Ocean, perhaps for years to come.
It is moved hither and yon until time and tide and many storms have at
last ground it into oblivion.

The long Arctic twilight had begun to fall when the two girls, hungry
and weary, but happily laden with many treasures which were to make
life more possible on their floating palace of ice, made their way
toward their camp.

Besides scraps of wood enough for two or three small fires, and cooking
utensils of various sorts, they had found salt, a part of a box of
pepper, and six cans of condensed milk which had doubtless been frozen
several times but had never been opened.

"We could live a week," said Lucile exultantly, "even if we didn't have
another bit of good luck."

"Yes-s," said Marian slowly, "but let's hope we don't have to; I'm
afraid I'd get awful hungry."

They dined that night, quite happily, on a third of their duck, soup
made of duck's broth and condensed milk, and half of a pilot biscuit.

"Oh, Marian," said Lucile, as she thought of sleep, "that kiak's so
crowded when we sleep there."

"Yes-s," said