“Very little; almost none.”
“Strange,” muttered Pic. “The boy may be yet alive. Then there is the ax; that puzzles me. Why did not the traitor take it with him?” Thus he aroused hope in his own breast, but this soon changed to depression. The next moment he raged and cursed Gonch for killing his boy and finally gave himself up to the deepest despair. The two animals watched these changing moods, with much concern. “I do not believe that the boy is dead,” said Hairi trying to comfort him.
“Nor I,” added Wulli.
“Nor I.” This third voice was a mere squeak and it seemed to come from the ground.
“Who said that?” Pic looked up at his friends, then at the ice about him.
“I said it and I mean it,” squeaked the voice again. It came from a little rat-like animal which was sitting upon its hind legs a short distance away. Its white fur made it almost indistinguishable from the hard-packed snow. Pic was the first to see the little creature. He pointed to it. His friends stared as though they could not believe their eyes.
“Obi!” squealed the Woolly Rhinoceros.
“Wulli!” piped the midget in response.
The Mammoth’s trunk reached toward the squeaks, whereupon he who made them ran up the trunk and jumped off onto one of the huge tusks. Here he perched bolt upright looking first at the Rhinoceros then at the Mammoth, out of his small beady eyes.
“It is Obi,” said Hairi delightedly. “How good it feels to see him again.”