first boat, fixed the thwarts and stretchers,
and, as it were, constructed a perfect oomiak in little more than ten
minutes.

Then there was a shout of delight when the Captain and Leo, one at the
bow, the other at the stern, lifted the boat as if it had been a
feather, and, carrying it down the beach, placed it gently in the sea.

But the excitement culminated when Chingatok, stepping lightly into it,
sat down on the seat, seized the little oars, and rowed away.

We should have said, attempted to row away, for, though he rowed
lustily, the boat did not move, owing to Anders, who, like Eskimos in
general, dearly loved a practical joke. Holding fast by the tail-line a
few seconds, he suddenly let go, and the boat shot away, while Anders,
throwing a handful of water after it, said, "Go off, bad boy, and don't
come back; we can do without you." A roar of laughter burst forth.
Some of the small boys and girls leaped into the air with delight,
causing the tails of the latter to wriggle behind them.

The Captain gave them plenty of time to blow off the steam of surprise.
When they had calmed down considerably, he proceeded to open out and
arrange one of the kites.

Of course this threw them back into the open-eyed and mouthed, and
finger-spreading condition, and, if possible, called forth more surprise
than before. When the kite soared into the sky, they shouted; when it
was being attached to the bow of the boat, they held their breath with
expectation, many of them standing on one leg; and when at last the
boat, with four persons in it, shot away to sea at the rate of eight or
ten miles an hour, they roared with ecstasy; accompanying the yells with
contortions of frame and visage which were so indescribable that we
gladly leave it all to the reader's imagination.

There can be no doubt of the fact that the Captain placed himself and
his countrymen that day on a pedestal from which there was no fear of
their being afterwards dislodged.

"Did not I tell you," said Chingatok to his sire that night, in the
privacy of his hut, "that the Kablunets are great men?"

"You did, my son. Chingatok is wise, and his father is a fool!"

No doubt the northern savage meant this self-condemning speech to be
understood much in the same way in which it is understood by civilised
people.

"When the oomiak swelled I thought it was going to burst," added the
chief.

"So did I, when I first saw it," said Chingatok. Father and son