tu names, such
as Black-mug, Yellow-eyes, Square-jaws, and the like.

"What have you got in the kettle?" asked Leo Vandervell, who came up
with some dry driftwood at the moment.

"Bubble-um-squeak," replied the cook.

"What sort o' squeak is that?" asked Leo, as he bent his tall strong
frame over the fire to investigate the contents of the kettle.

"What am it, massa? Why, it am a bit o' salt pork, an' a bit o' dat
bear you shooted troo de nose yes'rday, an' a junk o' walrus, an' two
puffins, an' some injin corn, a leetil pepper, an' a leetil salt."

"Good, that sounds well," said Leo. "I'll go fetch you some more
driftwood, for it'll take a deal of boiling, that will, to make it
eatable."

The driftwood referred to was merely some pieces of the yacht which had
been cast ashore by the hurly-burly of ice and water that had occurred
during the last tide. No other species of driftwood was to be found on
that coast, for the neighbouring region was utterly destitute of trees.

"Where has Alf gone to?" asked the Captain, as Leo was moving away.

"Oh, he's looking for plants and shells, as usual," answered Leo, with a
smile. "You know his heart is set upon these things."

"He'll have to set his heart on helping wi' the cargo after supper,"
said the Captain, drawing a small notebook and pencil from his pocket.

A few more of the sweet and reviving influences of life now began to
circle round the wanderers. Among them was the savoury odour that arose
from the pot of bubble-um-squeak, also the improved appearance of the
sky.

It was night, almost midnight, nevertheless the sun was blazing in the
heavens, and as the storm-clouds had rolled away like a dark curtain,
his cheering rays were by that time gilding the icebergs, and rendering
the land-cliffs ruddily. The travellers had enjoyed perpetual daylight
for several weeks already, and at that high latitude they could count on
many more to come. By the time supper was ready, the depressing
influences were gone, and the spirits of all had recovered their wonted
tone. Indeed it was not to the discredit of the party that they were so
much cast down on that occasion, for the parting, perhaps for ever, from
the friends with whom they had hitherto voyaged, had much more to do
with their sadness than surrounding circumstances or future trials.

"What plan do you intend to follow out, uncle?" asked Alphonse
Vandervell, as they sat at supper that night round the kettle