ice which silenced the two miles of ocean which,
in summer, sweeps between the two islands.

It was night when he arrived, the night of the strange witch-doctor's
seance. This had all come to an end. The schoolhouse was dark--the
girls were asleep. From a prowling native he learned that the girls
were there and safe, then he turned in for a long sleep.

Next day, much to the surprise and delight of the girls, he walked in
upon them as they were at breakfast.

When the story of all their strange adventures had been told Phi drew
from his pocket a much soiled blue envelope.

Phi first told how he had finally come into possession of the letter,
then he went on:

"I--I guess I may as well tell you about it. It's really no great
mystery, no great story of the discovery of gold. Just the locating of
a bit of whalebone.

"You see, my uncle came to the North with two thousand dollars. He
stayed three years. Then the money was gone and he had found no gold.
That happens often, I'm told. Then, one day he came upon the carcass
of an immense bowhead whale far north on the Alaskan shore. It had
been washed ashore by a storm. No natives lived near. The bone of
that whale was worth a small fortune. He cut it out and buried it in
the sand dunes near the beach. So eager was he to make good at last
that he actually lived on the gristly flesh of that whale until the
work was done. Then he went south in search of a gasoline schooner to
bring the treasure away. It was worth four or five thousand dollars.
But he had made himself sick. He was brought home from Nome delirious.
From his ravings his son, my cousin, gathered some notion of a treasure
hid away in Alaska. The doctor said he would recover in time. His
family was in need of money. I offered to come up here and find out
what I could. His son was to write me any information he could obtain.
We had written one another letters in Greek while in college. We
decided to do it in this case, addressing one another as Phi Beta Ki.

"Apparently my uncle had said too much in his delirium before he left
Nome. This crooked old miner, our bearded friend, heard it, and later,
somehow, got on my trail.

"You know the rest, except that this letter gives the location of the
whalebone. In the spring I shall go after it."

As he finished, a great, glad feeling of content swept over Marian; she
had been right, had made no mistake; the letter was really Phi's. Now
he had