changing glow like a bulbous opal, and about it, with a strange
shimmer, visibly swirled its iridescent rings.

"Thou standest alone--thou wouldst leave me?" Papik, eager,
triumphant, questioning, emerged from the stone entrance to the house
and approached the girl. The other natives, homeward bent, followed.

The girl was silent.

"Methought thou wouldst be glad----"

"Thy dog is strong," the girl replied.

"Dost thou love that dotard Attalaq?"

"No," the maid replied. "He is clumsy as the musk ox."

They turned, walking toward the igloo occupied by Ahningnetty and her
aged father.

"Wilt thou not be Papik's wife?" Papik pleaded. "My shelter is
cold--little meat have I. The white men robbed the tribe. But
perchance the bears come--then I shall kill them; valiant is my dog."
He patted the animal's shaggy head.

"But thy fingers, Papik--Papik! No--no!"

"But Papik loves thee," he protested; "his skin flushes with the
thought of thee."

"That thou didst also say to Annadoah, whom thou didst seek before me."

Papik was silent; it was true that Ahningnetty was only a second choice.

At that moment an ominous noise was heard on the sea. The tide, in
moving, caused the massive floe-ice to grate against that adhering to
the shore. To the simple natives, the noise indicated something more
sinister.

"Hearest that?" Ahningnetty asked.

"Yea," replied Papik, "_Qulutaligssuaq_, the monster who lives in the
sea, cometh with his hammers."

"He cometh to steal the children. In winter he is very hungry."

"They say he frightens people to death when a baby which is fatherless
screams."

"And after he heats his ladles, the babies often die."

Again the grating noise shuddered along the shore, and Ahningnetty,
frightened, fled to her house. Papik, pursuing his way, accosted Ootah.

As they were speaking they saw Otaq and his wife emerge from their
house. Between them they carried a small stark body. The woman was
weeping piteously. It was their child, which a brief while before had
died. The sea monster had again claimed its human toll.

Papik and Ootah disappeared--Papik to his shelter, Ootah to Annadoah's
igloo. The parents, left alone, dug up stones and ice and buried the
child. Then beneath the stars they stood in silent grief. Other
natives, emerging from their houses and seeing them, understood and
disappeared, for while relatives weep over their dead none dare disturb
their mourning.