"Coffee, I guess; and give us some fried bacon and crackers—but lots of coffee."
"Why couldn't we use our oil stove now?"
"We don't really need to. We have some wood, and can build a fire well enough inside here, and the oil is easier carried than the wood for a greater need. Ready, Tug?"
"Ay, ay, sir."
"All right. Here are our kindlings. Katy, open your lantern, and let me set these shavings afire. Matches are too precious to be wasted or even risked."
A minute later a brisk little fire was burning, snow was turning to water, and cold water to hot, while coffee was thinking that presently it would be in the pot, and slices of bacon were saying good-bye to their fellows, as one by one they dropped into the frying-pan.
It was a strange scene, but the actors in it were too tired and hungry to notice how they looked, as they watched with eager interest the progress of supper-getting. They were not cold, and wraps were all thrown aside, for the wind was cut off, and the fire, small as it was, made a great deal of heat in the confined space. The atmosphere of an Eskimo house of ice, though there may be no better fire than a little pool of train-oil in a soapstone saucer, where a wick of moss is smoking and flaring, will become so warm that the people remove not only their furs, but a large part of their under-clothing, and this when the temperature outside is fifty degrees or so below freezing-point.
"It is just about big enough for a play-house," Katy remarked, as she jostled one and another in moving about.
"I'm glad the snow blows over, and doesn't settle on the roof. If it did, I'm afraid the canvas would sag down awfully, or the oars break."
"How will we sleep to-night?" asked Jim.