But that mysterious arctic current, about which the greatest geographers are not agreed, it had carried him back again to the Pole! With vacant eyes on the colored paper, “We left him a feather for his ice-cap, didn’t we, Ky?”
“A feather.”
“Or a ribbon. Didn’t you see?”
“See—?”
“This. You didn’t notice we planted the stars and stripes there?”
“Oh-h. You see I thought you said no one was ever to know—”
“—and I carved a B. on the flagstaff. It was Borisoff’s snow-shoe staff. But the B.—it didn’t stand for Borisoff.”
“No?”
“No. The bamboo stood up there so light and slender—” Again the look that only one remembrance could bring into his eyes.