n established.
Probably, like many other antiquated customs, it had been originally the
result of despotism on the part of men in power, and of stupid
acquiescence on the part of an unthinking people.

On reaching his hut the old chief sat down, and, leaning carelessly
against the wall, he toyed with a bit of walrus rib, as an Englishman
might with a pair of nut-crackers at dessert.

"Why did you bring these barbarians here?"

"I did not bring them, father, they brought me," said the son with a
deprecating glance.

"Huk!" exclaimed the chief, after which he added, "hum!"

It was evident that he had received new light, and was meditating
thereon.

"My son," continued Amalatok, "these Kablunets seem to be stout-bodied
fellows; can they fight--are they brave?"

"They are brave, father, very brave. Even the little one, whom they
call Bunjay, is brave--also, he is funny. I have never seen the
Kablunets fight with men, but they fight well with the bear and the
walrus and the ice. They are not such fools as you seem to think.
True, about this nothing--this Nort Pole--they are quite mad, but in
other matters they are very wise and knowing, as you shall see before
long."

"Good, good," remarked the old chief, flinging the walrus rib at an
intrusive dog with signal success, "I am glad to hear you say that,
because I may want their help."

Amalatok showed one symptom of true greatness--a readiness to divest
himself of prejudice.

"For what do you require their help, father?" asked Chingatok.

Instead of answering, the old chief wrenched off another walrus rib from
its native backbone, and began to gnaw it growlingly, as if it were his
enemy and he a dog.

"My father is disturbed in his mind," said the giant in a sympathising
tone.

Even a less observant man than Chingatok might have seen that the old
chief was not only disturbed in mind, but also in body, for his features
twitched convulsively, and his face grew red as he thought of his
wrongs.

"Listen," said Amalatok, flinging the rib at another intrusive dog,
again with success, and laying his hand impressively on his son's arm.
"My enemy, Grabantak--that bellowing walrus, that sly seal, that
empty-skulled puffin, that porpoise, cormorant, narwhal--s-s-sus!"

The old man set his teeth and hissed.

"Well, my father?"

"It is not well, my son. It is all ill. That marrowless bear is
stirring up his people, and there is no doubt that we shall soon be
a