In these December days, before the watery sun had set, the great, rich-coloured moon arose, having now in her resplendent fulness quite the air of snuffing out the sun.  The pale and heavy-eyed day was put to shame by this brilliant night-lamp, that could cast such heavy shadows, and by which men might read.

The instant the Big Cabin door was opened Kaviak darted out between the Colonel’s legs, threw up his head like a Siwash dog, sniffed at the frosty air and the big orange moon, flung up his heels, and tore down to the forbidden, the fascinating fish-hole.  If he hadn’t got snared in his trailing coat he would have won that race.  When the two hunters had captured Kaviak, and shut him indoors, they acted on his implied suggestion that the fish-trap ought to be examined.  They chopped away the fresh-formed ice.  Empty, as usual.

It had been very nice, and neighbourly, of Nicholas, as long ago as the 1st of December, to bring the big, new, cornucopia-shaped trap down on his sled on the way to the Ikogimeut festival.  It had taken a long time to cut through the thick ice, to drive in the poles, and fasten the slight fencing, in such relation to the mouth of the sunken trap, that all well-conducted fish ought easily to find their way thither.  As a matter of fact, they didn’t.  Potts said it was because the Boy was always hauling out the trap “to see”; but what good would it be to have it full of fish and not know?

They had been out about an hour when the Colonel brought down a ptarmigan, and said he was ready to go home.  The Boy hesitated.

“Going to give in, and cook that bird for supper?”

It was a tempting proposition, but the Colonel said, rather sharply:  “No, sir.  Got to keep him for a Christmas turkey.”

“Well, I’ll just see if I can make it a brace.”

The Colonel went home, hung his trophy outside to freeze, and found the Trio had decamped to the Little Cabin.  He glanced up anxiously to see if the demijohn was on the shelf.  Yes, and Kaviak sound asleep in the bottom bunk.  The Colonel would climb up and have forty winks in the top one before the Boy got in for their game of chess.  He didn’t know how long he had slept when a faint scratching pricked through the veil of slumber, and he said to himself, “Kaviak’s on a raid again,” but he was too sodden with sleep to investigate.  Just before he dropped off again, however, opening a heavy eye, he saw Potts go by the bunk, stop at the door and listen.  Then he passed the bunk again, and the faint noise recommenced.  The Colonel dropped back into the gulf of sleep, never even woke for his chess, and in the morning the incident had passed out of his mind.

Just before dinner the next day the Boy called out: 

“See here! who’s spilt the syrup?”

“Spilt it?”

“Syrup?”

“No; it don’t seem to be spilt, either.”  He patted the ground with his hand.

“You don’t mean that new can—­”