Without wasting further breath on speech, the natives set to work fashioning the snow into large blocks, packing them down in such a way that, when they were through, each block seemed as heavy and durable as rock.
It was not long before the boys caught the idea and threw themselves into the work with a will. Not only was the work itself fascinating to them, but they were glad to do anything to ward off the intense cold.
When they decided that they had enough blocks to start building with—and the Eskimos worked with remarkable rapidity—they began the actual work of construction.
It was then the boys marveled, their respect for these simple children of the North growing by leaps and bounds as they saw the skill with which they set about the erection of this snow shelter.
Standing within the magically growing igloo they fitted block upon block. The sides and bottom of each block had been hollowed out in a shallow groove, so that they fitted closely, and the blocks were piled in such a way that they formed a solid strong wall.
With his left hand Kapje held the blocks, cutting and fitting with his right hand, his son helping in this work while the boys, under the instruction of the older Eskimo, filled in the chinks from the outside with handfuls of loose snow.
When the work was completed they found themselves the proud possessors of an igloo about twelve feet square and about seven feet high.
Then they set to work to make snow beds which, while not the warmest in the world, were soft, and, within the shelter of the snow walls, would ward off actual discomfort.
“What gets me,” said Bobby wonderingly, staring up at the arched ceiling of the igloo, “is how you manage to make a roof of snow like that without anything to support it.”
“Roof very strong,” said Kapje, not without a certain pride in the work. “All of us get up on roof, sit there—it no come down. Roof very strong.”