week out, an' keep hones' folks awake, an' den when it do git down cain't git up ag'in, an' de whole worl' freeze up a-waitin' foh hit. An' what we come foh? Why, to fin' a' old pole what can be pick' up in anybody's wood-pile, free foh ca'yin' off! Come down heah aftah a pole! What kin' o' pole you reck'n' gwine grow in such place, anyhow? I sh'd say pole! Why, you couldn't grow a bean pole! You couldn't grow a willer squich like I use to keep foh a little girl what need hit now-bringin' her ole mammy off down heah to freeze up in dis ice-jug! Come aftah a pole an' fine a hole, dat's what we done! No won'er Mistah Macaroni know what I thinkin' 'bout, when hit all freeze up an' stay heah, 'stid o' gwine wheah hit b'long!' The old woman paused an instant for breath, then in a deep voice of warning concluded her arraignment. "An' what kin' o' great black beas' gwine come an' get dis ship befo' we all see mo'nin'? What great black monstah comin' outen dis long black night what you-all mention? I know-hit Deff! Dat what comin'-Deff! Gwine out to say good-by to de sun, is you? Well, you bettah, caise when dat sun git roun' dis way ag'in, if hit evah do, hit's my 'pinion dat hit wait a long time befo' we-all come out to say 'Howdy!'"

The old woman flung herself out of the saloon. We laughed, but her final words had not been en

tirely without effect. It was by no means impossible that during the long night the "black beast" would come, and that the returning sun would find fewer to bid it welcome.

"I think she speaks not with the spirit of prophecy," said Ferratoni, but nevertheless we grew rather silent as we passed into the gloom without. Edith Gale and I ascended to the bridge. The others did not follow, but huddled forward to the bow. It lacked still ten minutes of midday.

We now saw that the sky overhead was thick, but clear-streaked in the north. Where the sun would appear there was a sorrowful semblance of dawn. Far across the black, frozen wastes, chill bands of red and orange glowed feebly amid heavier bands of dusk violet. Profound, overpowering, the infinite dark and cold were upon us. Before it, philosophies dwindled and the need of warm human touch and sympathy came powerfully upon us all. Edith Gale did not speak, and instinctively we drew closer together. Somewhere beneath the fur wrappings my hand found hers. She did not withdraw it. The caution of Chauncey Gale seemed as far off as the place where he had spoken it. I leaned nearer to her. The word formed itself on my lips -I could not be blamed.

Above the far rim it showed a thin rayless edge. Between, there seemed to lie a million miles of frozen sea. We watched it creep slowly westward. It was not a real sun, but a wraith—a vision such as Dante might have dreamed.

Again, leaning near, I whispered to her; and again, just at first, she did not answer. Then, very softly:

But it was not until you found the new world that you were to claim your reward."

My heart bounded. She had remembered, then. "Yes I wish only to name it, now."

The sun that had grown to a narrow distorted segment became once more a wavering line.

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Wait," she said-" not now-to-morrow, perhaps in the morning

99

It is months till then. It is the

long night I am thinking of———-”

"Yes, I know. I didn't mean-I meant-" and then somehow my arm had found its way about her, and she was close, close, and did not draw away.

The sun went out. The black wall-the black sea-the great black Antarctic Night and cold closed in, but within and about us lay the ineffable glory that has lighted the world and warmed it since man first looked on woman and found her fair.

XX.

THE LONG DARK.

I CANNOT attempt to picture the vast Antarctic Night. The words I have learned were never intended to convey the supreme mightiness of the Polar Dark. Chauncey Gale has referred to it as Creation's Cold Storage." I am willing to let it go at that.

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In the electric blaze of the Billowcrest we made merry, and occupied ourselves usefully. When the cold without was not too severe we went snow-shoeing over Bottle Bay, where a crust of ice had eventually formed, and where snow grew ever deeper until we half expected to be overwhelmed. Sometimes we heard the roaring of the pack outside, but in our snug harbor we felt little of its grinding discontent. How much we were warmed by our current beneath the ice we could not know, but the thermometer at no time showed more than 30° below zero. I have seen it as cold in northern Ne

braska.

Neither was it wholly dark in clear weather.

We had the stars, and at regular intervals, through our harbor gateway, the moon looked in. Often

it was a weird, distorted moon-flattened and wrinkled by radiations of cold from the far-lying ice-but always welcome. More than once it was doubly and even trebly welcome, for the atmosphere was responsible for some curious effects. Once Gale came down hastily to where Edith and I were deep in a game of cribbage.

"I want you and Johnnie to come on deck a minute," he said with some urgency, "I want you to look at the moon."

We arrayed ourselves and obeyed. Gale led the way and pointed to the harbor entrance.

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Nick," he commanded, “I want you and Johnnie to tell me how many moons you see there."

My hand lay on Edith's arm and I gave it a significant pressure.

"Why," I said, "I see one moon, of course. How many do you want me to see?"

you

"I hope, papa," said his daughter gravely, " that haven't been taking too much wine. You know that it doesn't agree with you. It makes you too stout, and now that it affects your eyes this way, I should think you would at least moderate your appetite for strong waters."

"Johnnie," said Gale severely, "you're a goose, as usual. But on the dead, now, I want you and