SKAGWAY, SHOWING WHITE PASS.
CHAPTER VII
MUIR GLACIER
The sun shone bright and warm, but a cold wave swept over the glacier. It was the beautiful Muir glacier.
We left the steamer in a little boat and were rowed to the shore, landing on the sandy beach. High on the sand lay an Indian canoe, a dug-out. Near by a party of Indians wrapped in their scarlet blankets squatted on the sand. They had come to meet the steamer and sell their toys, baskets and slippers.
A little black eyed boy had a half dozen young seagulls, in a basket, great awkward squabs. Their coats were a dirty fuzzy down like that of a gosling, sprinkled over with black dots. Their big hungry mouths and frowsy coats gave no hint of the beautiful birds they would be when they grew up.
When I paused to look at the birds their owner regarded me with interest as he sat with the basket hugged to his breast. Then the young merchant held one up for my inspection, with the remark, “hees nice bird.”
“Yes,” said I, “hees very nice.” I had no thought of buying a seagull. What would I do with it? Then I remembered a little invalid boy whom I thought might be pleased with a pet seagull.
“How much you give?” inquired my little Indian boy.