Soon the large round moon comes up.  She, too, must look into the swinging bed, and shine upon the closed eyes of the little brown baby.  She is very gentle, and sends her soft light among the branches and thick green leaves, kissing tenderly the small brown feet, and the crest on the head of the mother-bird, who opens one eye and looks quickly about to see if any harm is coming to the young ones.  The bright little stars, too, twinkle down through the shadows to bless the sleeping child.  All this while the wind blows and rocks the little bed, singing also a low song through the trees; for the brown mother has fallen asleep herself, and left the night-wind to take care of her baby.

So the night moves on, until, all at once, the rosy dawn breaks over the earth; the birds lift up their heads, and sing and sing; the great round sun springs up, and, shining into the tree, lifts the shut lids of the brown baby’s eyes.  She rolls over and falls into her mother’s arms, who dips her into the pretty running brook for a bath, and rolls her in the grass to dry, and then she may play among the birds and flowers all day long; for they are like merry brothers and sisters to the happy child, and she plays with them on the bosom of the round earth, which seems to love them all like a mother.

This is the little brown baby.  Do you love her?  Do you think you would know her if you should meet her some day?

A funny little brown sister.  Are all of them brown?

We will see, for here comes Agoonack and her sledge.

AGOONACK, THE ESQUIMAU SISTER.

What is this odd-looking mound of stone?  It looks like the great brick oven that used to be in our old kitchen, where, when I was a little girl, I saw the fine large loaves of bread and the pies and puddings pushed carefully in with a long, flat shovel, or drawn out with the same when the heat had browned them nicely.

Is this an oven standing out here alone in the snow?

You will laugh when I tell you that it is not an oven, but a house; and here lives little Agoonack.

Do you see that low opening, close to the ground?  That is the door; but one must creep on hands and knees to enter.  There is another smaller hole above the door:  it is the window.  It has no glass, as ours do; only a thin covering of something which Agoonack’s father took from the inside of a seal, and her mother stretched over the window-hole, to keep out the cold and to let in a little light.

Here lives our little girl; not as the brown baby does, among the trees and the flowers, but far up in the cold countries amid snow and ice.

If we look off now, over the ice, we shall see a funny little clumsy thing, running along as fast as its short, stout legs will permit, trying to keep up with its mother.  You will hardly know it to be a little girl, but might rather call it a white bear’s cub, it is so oddly dressed in the white, shaggy coat of the bear which its father killed last month.  But this is really Agoonack; you can see her round, fat, greasy little face, if you throw back the white jumper-hood which covers her head.  Shall I tell you what clothes she wears?