“Th’ Lard’s makin’ His own plans an’ He’s not wantin’ me t’ be meddlin’ wi’ un, an’ so He’s not lettin’ me do th’ way I lays out t’ do, an’ I’ll be makin’ no more plans, but takin’ things as they comes along.”

In this frame of mind he held the vessel steadily to her course and kept a constant lookout for land or a sail, and on the morning of the third day after the release from the ice pack was rewarded by a shout from Netseksoak announcing land at last.  Eagerly he looked, and in the distance, dimly, but still there, appeared the shore in low, dark outline against the horizon.

Towards noon a sail was sighted, and late in the afternoon they passed within hailing distance of a fishing schooner bound down north.  He shouted to the fishermen who, at the rail, were curiously watching the Maid of the North, as she plowed past them.

[Illustration:  “He held the vessel steadily to her course”]

“What land may that be?” pointing at a high, rocky head that jutted out into the water two miles away.

“Th’ Devil’s Head,” came the reply.

“An’ what’s th’ day o’ th’ month?”

“Th’ fifteenth o’ June,” rang out the answer.  “Where un hail from?”

“Ungava,” Bob shouted to the astonished skipper, who was now almost out of hearing.

The information that the land was the Devil’s Head came as joyful news to Bob.  He had often heard of the Devil’s Head, and knew that it lay not far from the entrance to Eskimo Bay, and therefore in a little while he believed he should see some familiar landmarks.

Bob’s hopes were confirmed, and before dark the Twin Rocks near Scrag Island were sighted, and as they came into view his heart swelled and his blood tingled.  He was almost home!

That night they lay behind Scrag Island, and with the first dawn of the morning were under way again.  The wind was fair, and before sunset the Maid of the North sailed into Fort Pelican Harbour and anchored.

Bob’s heart beat high as he stepped into the small boat to row ashore, for the whitewashed buildings of the Post, the air redolent with the perfume of the forest, and the howling dogs told him that at last the dangers of the trail and sea were all behind him and of the past, and that he would soon be at home again.

Mr. Forbes was at the wharf when Bob landed, and when he saw who it was exclaimed in astonishment: 

“Why it’s Bob Gray!  Where in the world, or what spirit land did you come from?  Why Ed Matheson brought your remains out of the bush last winter and I hear they were buried the other day.”

“I comes from Ungava, sir, with some letters Mr. MacPherson were sendin’,” answered Bob, as he made the painter fast.

“Letters from Ungava!  Well, come to the office and we’ll see them.  I want to hear how you got here from Ungava.”

In the office Bob told briefly the story of his adventures, while he ripped the letters from his shirt, where he had sewed them in a sealskin covering for safe keeping.