Mac was saying a great deal about the Ice Age and the first and second periods of glaciation, but nobody could hear what.

"Prince Nicholas?  Well, I should smile.  He belongs to the oldest family in the world.  Hoop-la!” The Boy jumped up on his stool and cracked his head against the roof; but he only ducked, rubbed his wild, long hair till it stood out wilder than ever, and went on:  “Nicholas’s forefathers were kings before Caesar; they were here before the Pyramids—­”

The Colonel came round and hauled the Boy down.  Potts was egging the miscreant on.  O’Flynn, poorly disguising his delight in a scrimmage, had been shouting:  “Ye’ll spoil the Blow-Out, ye meddlin’ jackass!  Can’t ye let Mac make his spache?  No; ye must ahlways be huntin’ round fur harrum to be doin’ or throuble to make.”

In the turmoil and the contending of many voices Nicholas began to explain to his friends that it wasn’t a real fight, as it had every appearance of being, and the visitors were in no immediate danger of their lives.  But Kaviak feared the worst, and began to weep forlornly.

“The world is dyin’ at top and bottom!” screamed the Boy, writhing under the Colonel’s clutch.  “The ice will spread, the beasts will turn white, and we’ll turn yella, and we’ll all dress in skins and eat fat and be exactly like Kaviak, and the last man’ll be found tryin’ to warm his hands at the Equator, his feet on an iceberg and his nose in a snowstorm.  Your old Buffer’s got a long head, Mac.  Here’s to Buffer!” Whereupon he subsided and drank freely of punch.

“Well,” said the Colonel, severely, “you’ve had a Blow-Out if nobody else has!”

“Feel better?” inquired Potts, tenderly.

“Now, Mac, you shall have a fair field,” said the Colonel, “and if the Boy opens his trap again—­”

“I’ll punch ’im,” promised O’Flynn, replenishing the disturber’s cup.

But Mac wouldn’t be drawn.  Besides, he was feeding Kaviak.  So the Colonel filled in the breach with “My old Kentucky Home,” which he sang with much feeling, if not great art.

This performance restored harmony and a gentle reflectiveness.

Father Wills told about his journey up here ten years before and of a further expedition he’d once made far north to the Koyukuk.

“But Nicholas knows more about the native life and legends than anyone I ever met, except, of course, Yagorsha.”

“Who’s Yag——?” began the Boy.

“Oh, that’s the Village Story-teller.”  He was about to speak of something else, but, lifting his eyes, he caught Mac’s sudden glance of grudging attention.  The priest looked away, and went on:  “There’s a story-teller in every settlement.  He has always been a great figure in the native life, I believe, but now more than ever.”

“Why’s that?”