"Who is not likely to come back?" asked a young girl, with an affectionate expression in her pretty brown eyes, issuing from the hut at that moment and seating herself close to the old man. The girl's face, on the whole, was unusually pretty for that of an Eskimo, and would have been still more so but for the grease with which it was besmeared--for the damsel had just been having a little refreshment of white-whale blubber. Her figure was comparatively slim and graceful, and would have been obviously so but for the ill-fitting coat and clumsy boots with which it was covered.

"Your mother and I were talking of a bad man, Nootka," said Mangivik.

"Ay, a very very bad man," exclaimed Mrs Mangivik, with a decided nod of her head.

"If he is so very bad," returned Nootka, "it would be good that he should never come back. Who is it?"

"Gartok," answered her mother, with the air of one who has mentioned the most hateful thing in creation.

Nootka laughed.

"Surely you are not fond of him!" exclaimed Mangivik, regarding his daughter with a look of anxiety.

"You know that I'm not," answered the girl, playfully hitting her sire on the back with the flap of her tail.

"Of course not--of course not; you could not be fond of an ugly walrus like him," said the father, replying to her pleasantry by fondly patting her knee.

Just then a young man was seen advancing from the beach, where he had left his kayak.

"It is Oolalik," said Mrs Mangivik, shading her eyes with her hand from the sun, which, in all the strength of its meridian splendour, was shining full on her fat face. "He must have made a good hunt, or he would not have come home before the others."

As she spoke Nootka arose hastily and re-entered the hut, from out of which there issued almost immediately the sounds and the savoury odours of roasting flesh.

Meanwhile Oolalik came up and gave vent to a polite grunt, or some such sound, which was the Eskimo method of expressing a friendly salutation.

Mangivik and his wife grumped in reply.

"You are soon back," said the former.

"I have left a walrus and two seals on the rocks over there," answered the youth, sitting down beside the old man.

"Good," returned the latter. "Come in and feed."

He rose and entered the hut. The young man who followed him was not so much a handsome as a strapping fellow, with a quiet, sedate expression, and a manly look that rendered him attractive to most of his friends.

Conversation, however, was not one of his strong points. He volunteered no remarks after seating himself opposite to Nootka, who handed him a walrus rib which she had just cooked over the oil lamp. Had Nootka been a civilised girl she might have been suspected of conveying a suggestion to the youth, for she was very fond of him, but, being an Eskimo of the Far North, she knew nothing about ribs or of Mother Eve. The young man however required no delicate suggestion, for he was equally fond of Nootka, and he endeavoured to show his feelings by a prolonged stare after he had accepted the food.

One is irresistibly impressed with the h.o.m.ogeneity of the human race when one observes the curious similarities of taste and habit which obtain alike in savage and civilised man. For a few moments this youth's feelings were too much for him. He stared in admiration at the girl, apparently oblivious of the rib, and sighed profoundly. Then he suddenly recovered himself, appeared to forget the girl, and applied himself tooth and nail to the rib. Could anything be more natural--even in a European prince?

Nootka did not speak--young women seldom do among savages, at least in the company of men,--but she looked many and very unutterable things, which it is impossible, and would not be fair, to translate.

"Will the others be back soon?" asked Mangivik.

Oolalik looked over the rib and nodded. (In this last, also, there was indication of h.o.m.ogeneity.)

"Have they got much meat?"

Again the young man nodded.

"Good. There is nothing like meat, and plenty of it."

The old man proceeded to ill.u.s.trate his belief in the sentiment by devoting himself to a steak of satisfying dimensions. His better-half meanwhile took up the conversation.

"Is Gartok with them?" she asked.

"Yes, he is with them," said the youth, who, having finished the rib, threw away the bone and looked across the lamp at Nootka, as if asking for another. The girl had one ready, and handed it to him.

Again Oolalik was overcome. He forgot the food and stared, so that Nootka dropped her eyes, presumably in some confusion; but once more the force of hunger brought the youth round and he resumed his meal.

"Has Gartok killed much?" continued the inquisitive Mrs Mangivik.

"I know nothing about Gartok," replied the young man, a stern look taking the place of his usually kind expression; "I don't trouble my head about him when I am hunting."

He fastened his teeth somewhat savagely in the second rib at this point.

"Do you know," said Mangivik, pausing in his occupation, "that Gartok has been trying to get the young men to go to the Whale River, where you know there are plenty of birds and much wood? He wants to fight with the Fire-spouters."

"Yes, I know it. Gartok is always for fighting and quarrelling. He likes it."

"Don't you think," said the old man suggestively, "that you could give him a chance of getting what he likes without going so far from home?"

"No, I don't choose to fight for the sake of pleasing every fool who delights to brag and look fierce."

Mrs Mangivik laughed at this, and her daughter giggled, but the old man shook his head as if he had hoped better things of the young one. He said no more, however, and before the conversation was resumed the voice of a boy was heard outside.

"Anteek," murmured Nootka, with a smile of pleasure.

"The other hunters must have arrived," said Oolalik, polishing off his last bone, "for Anteek was with them."

"He always comes first to see me when he has anything to tell," remarked Mrs Mangivik, with a laugh, "and from the noise he makes I think he has something to tell to-day."

If noise was the true index of Anteek's news he evidently was brimful, for he advanced shouting at the top of his voice. With that unaccountable ingenuity which characterises some boys, all the world over, he produced every sort of sound except that which was natural to him, and caused the surrounding cliffs to echo with the mooing of the walrus, the roaring of the polar bear, the shriek of the plover, the bellow of the musk-ox, and, in short, the varied cries of the whole Arctic menagerie. But he stopped short at the door of the hut and looked at Oolalik in evident surprise.

"You are back before me?" he said.

"That is not strange: I am stronger."

"Yes, but I started off long before you."

"So you thought, but you were mistaken. I saw you creeping away round the point. When you were out of sight I carried my kayak over the neck of land, and so got here before you."

"Have you told?" asked the boy anxiously.

"Never said a word," replied Oolalik.

"Here," said Nootka, holding out a piece of half-cooked blubber to the boy, "sit down and tell us all about it. What is the news?"

"Ha!" exclaimed Anteek, accepting the food as if he appreciated it.

"Well, I've killed my first walrus--all alone too!"