“I often wonder,” said Bobby, as he replaced some stones that winter storms had loosed, “who the man was and how he came by his death.  I remember I called him Uncle Robert, but I can’t remember much else about him, and that is like a dream.”

“I wonder if he really was your uncle?” suggested Jimmy.

“I don’t know,” said Bobby.  “I try to remember, until my head is spinning with it, and sometimes it seems as though I am going to remember what happened away back there.  It’s just as though I had lived before, and I think of bright lights, and beautiful things, and wonderful people.  I wonder if Father and Mother are right, and what I remember is heaven?  Do you think so, Jimmy?”

“I—­I wonder, now!” Jimmy’s voice was filled with awe.  “Maybe you did come from heaven, Bobby!”

“I don’t believe so,” and Bobby was practical again.  “I don’t feel as though I’d ever been an angel, and I don’t look it, do I?”

And he squared his shoulders and laughed his good-natured, infectious laugh, in which Jimmy joined, and the two returned to camp.

There was no floe ice on the coast now, but the sea was dotted with many icebergs, children of the great northern glaciers, drifting southward on the Arctic current.  Some of them were small and insignificant.  Others towered in massive majesty and grandeur high above the sea, miniature mountains of ice.  Some were of solid white, but the greater part of them reflected marvelous blues and greens and were a riot of beautiful color.

One of the smaller icebergs lying a half mile or so from Itigailit Island attracted Bobby’s attention as he and Jimmy walked back from the cairn.

“See that berg, Jimmy?” he asked.

“The little one close in?”

“Yes.  Do you know, I’ve got an idea.  That bear meat won’t keep long unless we pack it in ice or salt it, and I’d rather have it fresh than salted, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would!” said Jimmy.

“Then let’s take your skiff—­it’s bigger than ours—­and go for a load of ice.”

“It’s dangerous to go digging on icebergs.  They’re like to turn over,” suggested Jimmy.

“Oh, don’t be afraid, now.  Come on.  There isn’t any danger,” said Bobby, with impelling enthusiasm.  “We can get enough ice to keep the meat fresh until it’s all used up.  Come on.”

And Jimmy, as was his custom when Bobby urged, agreed.  Skipper Ed’s skiff lay at the landing, and arming themselves with an ax the two pulled away unobserved.

It was a small iceberg, perhaps sixty feet in diameter, and rising not more than twenty feet above the water.  Its surface was irregular, and there were several places where excellent footing could be had.  The boat was directed toward one of these.

“You stay in the boat,” said Bobby, seizing the ax, “and I’ll go aboard her and cut the ice.”

“Be careful,” cautioned Jimmy.

“Oh, there’s no danger,” said Bobby, climbing to the iceberg.