was not enviable. The hut was barely high
enough to let him sit up, and long enough to let him lie down--not to
stretch out. The small allowance of pemmican with which he had set out
had long ago been consumed. It was so dark that he could not see his
hand when close before his eyes. He was somewhat fatigued and rather
cold, and had no water to drink. It was depressing to think of going to
bed in such circumstances with the yelling of an Arctic storm for a
lullaby.

However, Leo had a buoyant spirit, and resolved to "make the best of
it." First of all he groped in his game-bag for a small stove lamp,
which he set up before him, and arranged blubber and a wick in it, using
the sense of touch in default of sight. Then he struck a light, but not
with matches. The Englishmen's small stock of congreves had long since
been exhausted, and they were obliged to procure fire by the Eskimo
method, namely, a little piece of wood worked like a drill, with a thong
of leather, against another piece of wood until the friction produced
fire. When a light had been thus laboriously obtained, he applied it to
the wick of his lamp, and wished fervently for something to cook.

It is proverbial that wishing does not usually achieve much. After a
deep sigh, therefore, Leo turned his wallet inside out. Besides a few
crumbs, it contained a small lump of narwhal blubber and a little
packet. The former, in its frozen state, somewhat resembled hard
butter. The latter contained a little coffee--not the genuine article,
however. That, like the matches, had long ago been used up, and our
discoverers were reduced to roasted biscuit-crumbs. The substitute was
not bad! Inside of the coffee-packet was a smaller packet of brown
sugar, but it had burst and allowed its contents to mingle with the
coffee.

Rejoiced to find even a little food where he had thought there was none,
Leo filled his pannikin with snow, melted it, emptied into it the
compound of coffee and sugar, put it on the lamp to boil, and sat down
to watch, while he slowly consumed the narwhal butter, listening the
while to the simmering of the pannikin and the roaring of the gale.

After his meagre meal he wrapped himself in his blanket, and went to
sleep.

This was all very well as long as it lasted, but he cooled during the
night, and, on awaking in the morning, found that keen frost penetrated
every fibre of his garments and every pore of his skin. The storm,
however