“Yes, me knows. When I was ’sleep, a big man comes an’ stump on my toes—not much, only a leetle. Dat wokes me, an’ I see Ujiyak. He shooks Ip’goo an’ bose hoed out degidder.”
Okiok looked at Kunelik, Kunelik looked at Okiok, and both gravely shook their heads.
Before they could resume the conversation, Ippegoo’s voice was heard outside asking if his mother was in.
“Go,” said Kunelik; “though he is a fool, he is wise enough to hold his tongue when any one but me is near.”
Okiok took the hint, rose at once, and went out, passing the youth as he entered, and being much struck with the lugubrious solemnity of his visage.
“Mother,” said Ippegoo, sitting down on a skin beside the pleasant little woman, “it comes.”
“What comes, my son?”
“I know not.”
“If you know not, how do you know that it comes?” asked Kunelik, who was slightly alarmed by the wild manner and unusual, almost dreadful, gravity of her boy.
“It is useless to ask me, mother. I do not understand. My mind cannot take it in, but—but—it comes.”