to wave a last
farewell. The salute was returned by the Eskimos--with especial fervour
by Chingatok, who stood high above his fellows on a promontory, and
waved the parchment roll of texts which he grasped in his huge right
hand.

Long after the boats had disappeared, the kites could still be seen
among the gorgeous clouds. Smaller and smaller they became in their
flight to the mysterious south, until at last they seemed
undistinguishable specks on the horizon, and then vanished altogether
from view.

One by one the Eskimos retired to their homes--slowly and sadly, as if
loath to part from the scene where the word farewell had been spoken.
At last all were gone save Chingatok, who still stood for hours on the
promontory, pressing the scroll to his heaving chest, and gazing
intently at the place on the horizon where his friends had disappeared.

There was no night to bring his vigil or his meditations to a close, but
time wore him out at last. With a sigh, amounting almost to a groan, he
turned and walked slowly away, and did not stop until he stood upon the
Pole, where he sat down on one of the Captain's stools, and gazed
mournfully at the remains of the dismantled observatory. There he was
found by old Makitok, and for some time the giant and the wizard held
converse together.

"I love these Kablunets," said Chingatok.

"They are a strange race," returned the wizard. "They mingle much folly
with their wisdom. They come here to find this Nort Pole, this nothing,
and they find it. Then they go away and leave it! What good has it
done them?"

"I know not," replied Chingatok humbly, "but I know not everything.
They have showed me much. One thing they have showed me--that behind
all _things_ there is something else which I do not see. The Kablunets
are wonderful men. Yet I pity them. As Blackbeard has said, some of
them are too fond of killing themselves, and some are too fond of
killing each other. I wish they would come here--the whole nation of
them--and learn how to live in peace and be happy among the Eskimos.
But they will not come. Only a few of their best men venture to come,
and I should not wonder if their countrymen refused to believe the half
of what they tell them when they get home."

Old Makitok made no reply. He was puzzled, and when puzzled he usually
retired to his hut and went to bed. Doing so on the present occasion he
left his companion alone.

"Poor, poor Kablunets," murmured