easure from whitewashing the fence, and even paid for the
privilege. Had their parents set them to whitewashing fences they would
have found it irksome work, and anything but play.

Bobby, indeed, had developed two distinct personalities. In his
every-day living he was decidedly an Eskimo; but of long winter
evenings, reading or studying Skipper Ed's books, at home in Abel's
cabin, or in one of the easy chairs in Skipper Ed's cabin, when Skipper
Ed explained to him and Jimmy the things they read, Bobby was as far
removed from his Eskimo personality as could be.

Abel and Mrs. Abel never wavered in their belief that God had sent Bobby
to them from the Far Beyond, through the place where mists and storms
were born. They believed he had been sent to them direct from heaven.

But Bobby was very human, indeed. No one other than Abel and Mrs. Abel
would ever have ascribed to him angelic origin, and as he developed it
must have caused a long stretch of even their imagination to continue
the fiction. There was nothing ethereal about Bobby. His big, husky
frame, his abounding and never-failing appetite, and his high spirits,
were very substantial indeed.

And as Bobby grew, and more and more took part in the bigger things of
life, his adventures grew from the smaller adventures of the boy to the
greater ones of the man.

In this wild land no one knows when he will be called upon to meet
adventure. The sea winds breathe it, it stalks boldly over the bleak
wastes of the barrens, and in the dark and mysterious fastnesses of the
forest it crouches, always ready for its chance to spring forward and
meet you unawares. Adventure, ay, and grave danger too, are wont to show
themselves unexpectedly. And so, one winter's evening, they came to
Skipper Ed and Bobby and Jimmy.

CHAPTER VII

THE WOLF PACK

In seasons when caribou were plentiful along the coast, wolves were also
plentiful, for it is the habit of wolves in this land to follow the
trail of the caribou herds and prey upon the stragglers. And so it was
that sometimes of a winter's night the silence of the hills was startled
by the distant howl of wolves. And always Skipper Ed's dogs and Abel's
dogs would answer the wild, weird cries of their untamed kin of the
hills with equally weird cries, their muzzles in the air and the
long-drawn notes rising and falling in woful and dismal cadence.

Perhaps the dogs were possessed of an uninterpreted longing to join
their b