"That floe is nearer than it has been before, Tug. Maybe it'll come quite close."
"Yes, mebbe it will. I 'low that's our only hope. We can do nothing, Katy, but watch, and—and pray, Katy. Let us go back to the fire. It is cold here, and we can do no good. Once in a while I'll come down and scream across to cheer 'em up."
Reluctantly, therefore, they returned to the igloo, warmed their feet, and picked up something to eat, but did not go to bed. Tug and Rex would frequently run out and shout across to Aleck, reporting at each return that the water-space (as well as could be guessed in the darkness) seemed to be surely narrowing. Towards morning Katy was persuaded to lie down, consenting to do so only when promised that she should be roused as soon as daylight appeared. Tug himself fell asleep, but both awoke with the first light of dawn, and hastened together to the edge of the floe, where the water lay calm and smooth, gray as iron and cold as death, between the divided friends.
"Oh, I can see them!" cried the girl, and sent a cheery call across the "lead," which had now narrowed to a few rods. "Poor little Jim! See how he has to lean against Aleck."
"We're safe," came back the shout, "but almost worn-out. Can you move the boat?"
"No."
"Then unroll the ball of twine, and tie one end of it to the clothes-line, and to the other end of the clothes-line knot all the drag-ropes put together. Then fasten the loose end of the twine to Rex's collar, and make the dog bring it to me. Understand?"
"Yes."