hey bleeds the life
outa us. They say Grenfell when he comes is a-goin' to fight them
traders an' put 'em outa business!"

The swift wind was throwing stinging bits of ice, sharp as needles, in
his face. He drew his cap about his ears more closely and plodded on.
The further he walked the further away the seal seemed to be. He was
half crouching as he walked: he wished he might cover himself with a
skin and crawl on all fours. But if he started to crawl now--he felt
as though it would be a year before he could get near enough to shoot.

"Please, God"--he spoke to God as naturally as to his family--"bless
this ole gun an' make her shoot straight and he'p me knock that seal
over, the first shot. For it don't look like there's goin' to be
more'n one shot, an' if I don't kill her there's my whole family's
goin' to starve and mebbe a whole lot o' other people that's a-lookin'
for what they think I'm a-goin' to bring back."

Now it was time to flatten himself down on the ice and scrape along,
like another seal. It was hard work--try it yourself, if you don't
think so!--and it took lots of patience.

Now he could see the seal raise its head and look about. He mustn't
give it a chance to ask questions of the wind, because the wind might
say: "Look out, Mr. or Mrs. Seal! There's a man creeping and creeping
toward you with a gun, and in a minute that man is going to shoot, and
you'll be sorry you hung around here and didn't dive through the ice
the very first second your nose told you you'd better!"

He raised his gun, and prayed again--this time a very short prayer: "O
Lord, bless this gun!" And he fired.

The black spot had not vanished. It was motionless. "Did I hit him?"
Tom asked himself. "Better try another shot an' make sure."

He was a long time sighting--and he imagined the spot moved a little
as he did so.

Then he fired again.

There it was still. Now he dared to believe he had hit the seal.
Dragging the gun he crawled nearer and nearer. Still the seal did not
move.

Now he could see the whole animal clearly.

The sight was joyful.

"Glory be!" he shouted. Then he jumped up and capered about madly on
the ice. It was a nice, fat, luscious, flipper seal and dead as a
door-nail. Enough for a banquet for all of the tiny village of St.
Anthony. And if Dr. Grenfell should be there when he and the dogs got
back with it, the Doctor should have the largest, tenderest, juiciest
steak of all.

The wind was setti