d be able to see it once the door was open a crack.

"Now! Ready!" whispered Marian, as she grasped the doorknob and turned
it.

With a wildly beating heart Lucile waited at her side.

But the door did not open. "It's stuck," whispered Marian. "I--I
guess you'll have to help me."

Reluctantly laying down the knife, Lucile put both hands over Marian's
and exerted all her strength in a pull.

The next instant the door gave way, but instead of being permanently
held by the chain, it was only momentarily checked by it, then flew
wide open, sending both girls crashing to the floor. The rusty staple
had broken.

Too frightened to breathe they scrambled to their feet. Lucile fumbled
about for the knife. Marian seized the door to close it. Then in one
breath they exclaimed, "Why, it's only an Eskimo boy!"

It was true. Before them on the snow, peering white-faced at them, was
a native boy, probably not over ten years old.

He dragged himself to a sitting position, then attempted to rise. At
this he failed, and fell over again.

"He must be injured," said Marian.

"Or starved," answered Lucile.

It was plain that the boy was at this time quite as much frightened as
had been the girls a moment before.

"We must get him inside and find out if he is hurt," said Lucile,
bending over and grasping the boy by the shoulder. As she did this he
uttered a low moan of fear and shrank back.

Disregarding this, the two girls lifted him gently, and, carrying him
inside, set him on their sleeping-bag with the wall of the room as a
prop to his back.

"I believe his foot's hurt," said Lucile suddenly. "See how his
skin-boot is torn!"

To cut away the boot, which was stiff and frozen, was a delicate task.
When this and the deerskin sock had been removed, they saw that the
foot had indeed been badly crushed. The deerskin sock had prevented it
from freezing.

By carefully pressing and working it this way and that, Lucile
determined that there were probably no bones broken. It, however, was
swelling rapidly.

"We must bandage it at once," said Lucile.

"With what?"

Lucile's answer was to tear a six-inch strip from the bottom of her
underskirt. The wound was then tightly and skillfully bandaged.

"Next thing's something to eat," said Lucile, rising. "You stay here
and I'll see what I can find to cook something in."

She soon returned with a huge brass teakettle of the Russian type.
Into this she put snow, a