“Isn’t it fine and cozy,” said Bobby, between mouthfuls of frozen boiled pork and hardtack.  “I always find a snow igloo cozy.”

“It makes a pretty good shelter,” Skipper Ed admitted, “but I never did care for an igloo.  I’m too much of an Indian, I suppose, for I prefer a tent and a good wood fire, with its sweet smoke odor, and the companionship and shelter of the forest.”

“Oh, I think an igloo is nicer,” insisted Bobby.  “A tent gets cold at night when the fire goes out, and an igloo keeps fine and warm.  I could live in an igloo all winter.”

“You’re a regular husky!” laughed Skipper Ed.  “Partner and I are Indians, aren’t we, Partner?”

“Yes, Partner, I like a tent better,” agreed Jimmy, “but,” he added, “I like our house better than a tent.”

“It all depends upon what we’re used to, after all,” remarked Skipper Ed, “and comfort is a matter of comparison.  I’ve no doubt that Bobby, had he never been sent adrift, and had he never found his way here, would now be living in a fine mansion somewhere, and if he had been brought here directly from the luxuries of that mansion would have found this igloo unbearable, and instead of praising its comforts, as he is, would be denouncing it as unendurable, and the good supper we have just eaten as unfit to eat.  And in that case it would have been a terrible hardship for him to spend even a single night here.”

“I’m glad, then, that I came away from the mansion and its finery,” declared Bobby.  “But I’ve often wondered who the dead man was that Father found in the boat with me.  I’ve often felt strange about that, and every summer when we’re here I go over and look at his grave.”

“I remember you spoke of him as ‘Uncle Robert,’” said Skipper Ed.  “Perhaps he was your uncle.”

“I wonder—­and I wonder—­” said Bobby.  “I wonder if my real mother and father are living, and whether they have stopped feeling bad about me, and forgotten me.  I—­think—­sometimes I’d give most anything to see them and tell them I’m happy.”

Then they were silent, and presently Skipper Ed knew that the boys were sleeping.  But for a long time he lay awake and thought of other lands, and the friends of his youth and the days when he lived in luxury; and he wondered if, after all, he had been one whit happier in those days, with all the fine things he had, than were Bobby and Jimmy here in this rugged land, with no luxuries whatever.  “We do not need much,” he soliloquized, “to make us happy if we are willing to be happy.  Health and love, and enough plain food to eat and clothes to cover us, and a shelter—­even a snow house—­and we have enough.”

Before day broke they were astir; and the sun had not yet risen when they repacked their sledges and harnessed the dogs, and drove down over the ice toward the sena.  For a mile the ice was smooth.  Then they came among the pressure ridges, and had to pick their course in and out for another two miles before they came at last to the open sea.