o having begun
the race for sport now continued it energetically for profit. A dozen
sticks were hurled at the luckless hare, and one of these felled it to
the ground.

After this they returned home in triumph, keeping up all the way an
animated dispute as to the amount of heat shed upon them by the sun, and
upon that knotty question:

"Who killed the hare?"

Neither point was settled when they reached the _Dolphin_, and, we may
add, for the sake of the curious reader, neither point is settled yet.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

"THE ARCTIC SUN"--RATS! RATS! RATS!--A HUNTING-PARTY--OUT ON THE
FLOES--HARDSHIPS.

Among the many schemes that were planned and carried out for lightening
the long hours of confinement to their wooden home in the Arctic
regions, was the newspaper started by Fred Ellice, and named, as we have
already mentioned, _The Arctic Sun_.

It was so named because, as Fred stated in his first leading article, it
was intended to throw light on many things at a time when there was no
other sun to cheer them. We cannot help regretting that it is not in
our power to present a copy of this well-thumbed periodical to our
readers; but being of opinion that _something_ is better than _nothing_,
we transcribe the following extract as a specimen of the contributions
from the forecastle. It was entitled--

"John Buzzby's Oppinyuns o' Things in Gin'ral."

"Mr Editer,--As you was so good as to ax from me a contribootion to
your waluable peeryoddical, I beg heer to stait that this heer article
is intended as a gin'ral summery o' the noos wots agoin'. Your reeders
will be glad to no that of late the wether's bin gittin' colder, but
they'll be better pleased to no that before the middle o' nixt sumer
it's likely to git a long chawk warmer. There's a gin'ral complaint
heer that Mivins has bin eatin' the shuger in the pantry, an' that's
wot's makin' it needfull to put us on short allowance. Davie Summers
sais he seed him at it, and it's a dooty the guvermint owes to the
publik to have the matter investigated. It's gin'rally expected,
howsever, that the guvermint won't trubble its hed with the matter.
There's bin an onusual swarmin' o' rats in the ship of late, an' Davie
Summers has had a riglar hunt after them. The lad has becum more than
ornar expert with his bow an' arrow, for he niver misses now--exceptin'
always, when he dusn't hit--an' for the most part takes them on the pint
on the snowt with his blun