to boil, tea was made, and then
the fire was put out, for already the temperature inside the _igloo_ had
become so warm that presently there would be danger of the snow dripping
moisture.

"Now," said Skipper Ed, lighting a candle, for it was growing dark,
"we're ready for supper. You chaps must be hungry."

"I could eat my boots!" declared Bobby.

"So could I!" exclaimed Jimmy, as he poured hot tea into Skipper Ed's
and Bobby's cups and then helped himself. "I was glad enough when we
decided to stop here."

"Isn't it fine and cozy," said Bobby, between mouthfuls of frozen boiled
pork and hardtack. "I always find a snow _igloo_ cozy."

"It makes a pretty good shelter," Skipper Ed admitted, "but I never did
care for an _igloo_. I'm too much of an Indian, I suppose, for I prefer
a tent and a good wood fire, with its sweet smoke odor, and the
companionship and shelter of the forest."

"Oh, I think an _igloo_ is nicer," insisted Bobby. "A tent gets cold at
night when the fire goes out, and an _igloo_ keeps fine and warm. I
could live in an _igloo_ all winter."

"You're a regular husky!" laughed Skipper Ed. "Partner and I are
Indians, aren't we, Partner?"

"Yes, Partner, I like a tent better," agreed Jimmy, "but," he added, "I
like our house better than a tent."

"It all depends upon what we're used to, after all," remarked Skipper
Ed, "and comfort is a matter of comparison. I've no doubt that Bobby,
had he never been sent adrift, and had he never found his way here,
would now be living in a fine mansion somewhere, and if he had been
brought here directly from the luxuries of that mansion would have found
this _igloo_ unbearable, and instead of praising its comforts, as he is,
would be denouncing it as unendurable, and the good supper we have just
eaten as unfit to eat. And in that case it would have been a terrible
hardship for him to spend even a single night here."

"I'm glad, then, that I came away from the mansion and its finery,"
declared Bobby. "But I've often wondered who the dead man was that
Father found in the boat with me. I've often felt strange about that,
and every summer when we're here I go over and look at his grave."

"I remember you spoke of him as 'Uncle Robert,'" said Skipper Ed.
"Perhaps he was your uncle."

"I wonder--and I wonder--" said Bobby. "I wonder if my real mother and
father are living, and whether they have stopped feeling bad about me,
and forgotten me. I--think--sometimes I'