ed by crushed and chafing
spirits longing to be free. They cannot wall thee round. They cannot
map thee into acres and hedge thee in, and leave us naught but narrow
roads between. No ploughshare cleaves thee save the passing keel; no
prince or monarch owns thy haughty waves. In thy hidden caverns are
treasures surpassing those of earth; and those who dwell on thee in
ships behold the wonders of the mighty deep. We bow in adoration to thy
great Creator; and we bow to thee in love and reverence and sympathy, O
sea!

Edith sat on the sea-shore. The glassy waves were no longer encumbered
with ice, but shone like burnished gold in the light of the summer sun.
Here and there, however, a large iceberg floated on the deep--a souvenir
of winter past, a guarantee of winter yet to come. At the base of these
blue islands the sea, calm though it was, broke in a continual roar of
surf, and round their pinnacles the circling sea-birds sailed. The
yellow sands on which the child sat, the green willows that fringed the
background of brown rocks, and the warm sun, contrasted powerfully with
the vestiges of winter on the sea, while a bright parhelia in the sky
enriched and strengthened these characteristics of an arctic summer.

There was busy life and commotion in the Esquimau camp, from which Edith
had retired to some distance to indulge in solitude the sad reveries of
home, which weighed more heavily on her mind as the time flew by and the
hope of speedy delivery began to fade.

"O my own dear mother," sighed the child aloud, while a tear trickled
down each cheek, "shall I never see you more? My heart is heavy with
wishing, always wishing. But no one comes. I never see a boat or a
ship on that wide, wide sea. Oh, when, when will it come?"

She paused, and, as she had often done before, laid her face on her
hands and wept. But Edith soon recovered. These bursts of grief never
lasted long, for the child was strong in hope. She never doubted that
deliverance would come at _last_; and she never failed to supplicate at
the throne of mercy, to which her mother had early taught her to fly in
every time of trouble and distress.

Soon her attention was attracted from the sea, over whose wide expanse
she had been gazing wistfully, by the loud voices of the Esquimaux, as a
number of them prepared to embark in their kayaks. Several small whales
had been descried, and the natives, ever on the alert, were about to
attack them.