A cod which Bobby caught with his jigger, was boiled in sea water, because sea water salted it to just the right flavor.  This was the first cod of the season, and the first cod is always a delicacy, and so they deemed it, together with some of Mrs. Abel’s bread, and a pot of tea sweetened with a drop of molasses.

Then Skipper Ed and Abel shaved tobacco from black plugs, and Skipper Ed and Abel and Mrs. Abel talked while they waited for the wind to rise that was to carry them on their journey.

It was a rocky, irregular island upon which they had halted, with rocks sloping up from the water’s edge, and on the top some struggling bunches of brush.  It was not a large island, but nevertheless Bobby and Jimmy deemed it worthy of exploration, and so, bent upon discovery, they left their elders to talk, while they wandered about.

“There’s a dotar on the shore,” exclaimed Bobby, stopping suddenly and indicating the dark body of a harbor seal sunning itself comfortably upon the surface of the smooth, flat rocks near water.  “Wait here, Jimmy, till I get my gun and try a shot at him.”

And away he ran, presently to return with his gun—­the same that Abel had found in the boat at the time he discovered Bobby.  It was double-barreled, and a shotgun, but now both barrels were loaded with round ball.  And loaded with ball it was effective enough at fifty yards or so, but far from certain in accuracy at a greater distance.

“Let’s work down through the brush as far as we can,” suggested Bobby, “and then I’ll crawl down on him, if he’ll let me, for a good close shot.”

Slowly they crawled, and cautiously, looking at nothing and paying attention to nothing but the seal, which, presently becoming conscious of danger perhaps, grew restless; and though Bobby was not as near his game as he should have wished, he threw up his gun and fired.  The bullet, after the manner of bullets fired from shotguns at long range, went wide of its mark, and the seal, after the manner of seals, slipped gently into the water and was gone.

“There he goes!” exclaimed Bobby in disgust, springing to his feet.  “If I had only had a rifle!”

“Yes,” said Jimmy, “you’d have—­”

Jimmy’s sentence was cut short by the sound of a heavy tread behind them, and wheeling about our young hunters discovered a big polar bear, in the edge of the brush and not twenty yards away.  It had apparently been aroused from an afternoon sleep, and not being partial to human society was now bent upon an expeditious departure from the vicinity.  Quick as a flash Bobby raised his gun to his shoulder.

“Don’t shoot!  Don’t shoot!” warned Jimmy.

But Bobby did not heed the warning.  The bullet from the undischarged barrel went crashing into the animal’s shoulder.  The bear stumbled, bit furiously at the wound, and then in a rage charged upon his now defenseless enemies.

Polar bears, unless very hungry, or unless placed in a position where they must defend themselves, will rarely attack man.  But when wounded they are more likely than not to become furious, and their fury knows no bounds.  Bent upon revenge they will attack viciously and are dangerous enemies.  The hunter who wounds a polar bear without first taking the precaution to prepare for defense or retreat, tries an exceedingly dangerous experiment.