“I will go and talk with him on this matter, Okiok,” said the seaman. “Meanwhile, do you say nothing about it to any one.”
Chapter Fourteen.
Solemn and Mysterious Doings are Brought to a Violent Close.
Angut was seated at the further end of his abode when his friend entered, apparently absorbed in contemplation of that remarkable specimen of Eskimo longevity, the grandmother of Okiok.
“I have often wondered,” said Angut, as the seaman sat down beside him, “at the contentment and good-humour and cheerfulness, sometimes running into fun, of that poor old woman Kannoa.”
“Speak lower,” said Rooney in a soft voice; “she will hear you.”
“If she does, she will hear no evil. But she is nearly deaf, and takes no notice.”
“It may be so; poor thing!” returned the sailor in a tender tone, as he looked at the shrivelled-up old creature, who was moving actively round the never-idle lamp, and bending with inquiring interest over the earthen pot, which seemed to engross her entire being. “But why do you wonder?”