ce of the Scotch sailor was taken up by a thin, blue, filmy mist.

"But I wanted--" began the doctor.

"Don't; pray don't try to call him back, uncle," said his nephew.

"But he's told us nothing about his being frozen in," said the doctor.

"And won't now," growled Binny Scudds. "I say, lads, do you know I like
this here. We'll have another one out to-morrow."

"Let's go outside and look," said the doctor.

We did, and there was the square block of ice neatly open, leaving the
shape of the Scotch sailor perfect, even to the place where his long,
thin nose had been.

"Well, turn in, lads," said the doctor; "we'll hunt out another
to-morrow."

"So we will," said the lads. "Who's afeard?"

"Nobody!" growled Bostock. "I say, doctor, what's the difference
between these and ghosts?"

"These, my men," began the doctor, "are scientific specimens, while your
ghost is but a foolish hallucination of the--Bless me, how rude!--the
fellow's asleep."

And the rest were soon in the same condition. Early the next morning,
though, the doctor gave the order, "Strike tents!" and we journeyed on a
couple of miles along the edge of the great crater, looking curiously
down the mysterious slope, at the pale, thin mist far below.

"I should like to go down," said the doctor, looking longingly at the
great hollow; "but it won't do; there's the getting back, and I should
be such a loss to the scientific world. Hallo! here's another."

He pointed to the clearly-seen figure of a man underneath the ice, and
the men, having now become familiar to such sights, set to laughingly,
and were saved much trouble, for the ice cracked away from the figure,
and after a few strokes they were able to lift the body out, and lay it
in the sun, where, before many minutes had passed, it made the motion of
taking snuff, and then ejaculated--

"Declare to goodness!"

"Take a nip, mate," said Abram Bostock, handing a tot of rum; but the
figure waved it away.

"Who are you?" said the doctor. "How did you get here? Don't say
you've already discovered the North Pole."

"Pole? North Pole?" said the figure, sleepily. "I know nothing about
the North Pole. No, indeed!"

"Well, who are you?" said the doctor. "Come, give us a scientific
account;" and the stranger began.

CHAPTER FIVE.

THE WELSH SAILOR'S YARN.

My name aboard ship is registered John Jones. Yes, indeed. Though, to
confess exactly, I was born the son of Hugh Anwyl, mi