“Oh,” thought Bob, “if I had but heeded Sishetakushin’s warning!”

But it was too late now to repent of the course he had taken and he had only to abide by it.  It seemed to him that his own life hung by a mere thread and that at any moment some fancy might strike them to sacrifice him too.  He had indeed but barely escaped Chealuk’s fate, and the next time he might not be so fortunate.

In this disturbed state of mind he withdrew from the igloos and climbed the hill, where he stood and gazed longingly at the mainland hills to the southward, wondering where, beyond those cold, white ranges, lay Wolf Bight and his little cabin home, warm and clean and tidy, and whether his mother and father and Emily thought him safe or had heard of his disappearance and were mourning him as dead.  And here he was far, far away in the north and hopelessly—­apparently—­stranded upon a desolate island from which he would probably never escape and never see them again.

Oh, how lonely and disconsolate he felt.  Every day since he left home he had prayed God to keep the loved ones safe and to take him back to them.

“I hopes they’re safe an’ Emily’s better, but th’ Lard’s been losin’ track o’ me,” he said to himself with a wavering faith.

“But th’ Lard took me safe t’ Ungava, an’ He must be watchin’ me,” he exclaimed after further thought.  “An’ He’s been rare good t’ me.”

Then like a bulwark to lean against there came to him the words of his mother as they parted that beautiful September morning: 

“Don’t forget your prayers, lad, an’ remember your mother’s prayin’ for you every night an’ every mornin’.”

And Emily had said, too, that she would ask God every night to keep him safe.  This brought him a renewal of his faith and he argued,

“Th’ Lard’ll sure not be denyin’ mother an’ Emily, an’ they askin’ He every day t’ bring me back.  He sure would not be denyin’ they for He knows how bad ‘twould be makin’ they feel if I were not comin’ home.  An’ He wouldn’t be wantin’ that, for they never does nothin’ t’ make He cross with un.”

This thought comforted him and he said confidently to himself,

“Th’ Lard’ll be showin’ th’ way when th’ right time comes an’ I’ll try t’ bide content till then.”

But there was little in the surroundings to warrant Bob’s faith.  Looking about him from the hilltop he could see nothing but open sea around the island with an expanse of desolation beyond—­snow, snow everywhere, from the water’s edge to where the rugged mountains to the south and east held their cold heads into the gray clouds that hid the sky and sun.  The sea was sombre and black.  Not a breath of air stirred, not a sound broke the silence, and it seemed almost as though Nature in anxious suspense watched the outcome of it all.  But Bob’s faith was renewed—­the simple, childlike faith of his people—­and he felt better and more content with himself and his fortune.