"Billy, you will catch it!"
"I should rather think you had caught it already. Did you bring any seal-fat, Sammy?"
Sammy felt mad enough and hot enough to set the water to boiling between his kayah and the shore.
"You had better run, Billy."
"Plenty of time, Sammy."
Sammy's kayah was now ashore. Sammy unlaced his jacket and let himself out of jail. Pulling his kayah high up the shore, he turned it over and let
the water escape. There were two ugly gashes in the seal-skin bottom—just as he expected.
"Now where's that Billy?" asked Sammy at last. But mother's red boots had prudently withdrawn.
"I will give it to him," said Sammy; "but I will mend this first."
He took up his beloved kayah and walked to the little village. It was not very large. There were half a dozen seal-skin tents, a few houses of stone and turf, and one or two wooden buildings, besides the government-house that proudly supported the flag of Denmark.