The dog has learnt to value man as his benefactor, from whom he receives everything necessary for his support.  Affection and devotion seem also to have their part in these relations, but no doubt on a closer examination the instinct of self-preservation is at the root of all.  As a consequence of this, his respect for his master is far greater than in our domestic dog, with whom respect only exists as a consequence of the fear of a beating.  I could without hesitation take the food out of the mouth of any one of my twelve dogs; not one of them would attempt to bite me.  And why?  Because their respect, as a consequence of the fear of getting nothing next time, was predominant.  With my dogs at home I certainly should not try the same thing.  They would at once defend their food, and, if necessary, they would not shrink from using their teeth; and this in spite of the fact that these dogs have to all appearance the same respect as the others.  What, then, is the reason?  It is that this respect is not based on a serious foundation —­ the instinct of self-preservation —­ but simply on the fear of a hiding.  A case like this proves that the foundation is too weak; the desire of food overcomes the fear of the stick, and the result is a snap.

A few days later the last member of the wintering party —­ Adolf Henrik Lindstrom —­ joined us, and with his arrival our arrangements might be regarded as complete.  He had stayed on board hitherto, attending to the cooking there, but now he was no longer necessary.  His art would be more appreciated among the “chatterers.”  The youngest member of the expedition —­ the cook Karinius Olsen —­ took over from that day the whole of the cooking on the Fram, and performed this work in an extremely conscientious and capable way until the ship reached Hobart in March, 1912, when he again had assistance.  This was well done for a lad of twenty.  I wish we had many like him.

With Lindstrom, then, the kitchen and the daily bread were in order.  The smoke rose gaily from the shining black chimney, and proclaimed that now the Barrier was really inhabited.  How cosy it was, when we came sledging up after the day’s work, to see that smoke rising into the air.  It is a little thing really, but nevertheless it means so much.  With Lindstrom came not only food, but light and air —­ both of them his specialities.  The Lux lamp was the first thing he rigged up, giving us a light that contributed much to the feeling of comfort and well-being through the long winter.  He also provided us with air, but in this he had Stubberud as a partner.  These two together managed to give us the finest, purest Barrier air in our room during the whole stay.  It is true that this was not done without hard work, but they did not mind that.  The ventilation was capricious, and liable to fail now and then.  This usually happened when there was a dead calm.  Many were the ingenious devices employed by the firm to set the business going again.