“I’ll return with honour, dad,” said Ingomar to himself, as he folded the letter and placed it in his pocket. “I’ll come back to you with honour, or never return again. It is a handsome letter, and, father, you have a heart that I was cruel enough to vex and chafe. I’ll never part with this letter, for, ah! dad, it shows, however you try to hide it, that you have already forgiven your prodigal son.”
He looked very handsome as he stood there in his little cabin, to which he had stolen away to read the letters from home over again.
There was the rattle of oars in rowlocks, and he knew a boat from the Elephant was coming swinging alongside.
Then footsteps overhead, and presently entered his friend Lieutenant Curtis.
“Hillo, Armstrong!”
“Hillo, Curtis!”
They shook hands.
“There is going to be a council of war—war with the ice—to-morrow forenoon, and you and I have to be there. But meanwhile I want you to come for a cruise on shore to have a look at the birds.”
“I’m with you; and I suppose there will be room for the boys?”
“Lots. They can take an oar each. They are strong enough.”