“True,” replied Angut, who at once saw the drift of his friend’s remark; “but then you know that the knife-man’s object is good. It is to cure, to relieve.”
“But suppose,” argued Rooney, “that you did not know that his object was good—that you looked on him as a cruel, bloody, heartless monster, who cared not for your cries of pain—would your ignorance change his character?”
“No, no; he would remain good, whatever you might think,” said Angut quickly; “I see. I see. I will try to think as you think—the Great Father is good, must be good. And He will prove it some day. Don’t you think so, Ridroonee?”
“Ay, truly, I think so; I am sure of it. But listen! Do you not hear sounds?”
They both listened intently, and gazed towards the northern headland of the bay, which at the time was bathed in brilliant moonlight. Presently two black specks, one larger than the other, were seen to round the point, and the chattering of women’s voices was heard.
It was Arbalik in a kayak, preceding an oomiak propelled by several women. In her impatience to join her lord, Madame Okiok had insisted on a forced march. A few minutes more, and the women landed amid noisy demonstrations of satisfaction. Ere long the united party were busy round the unfailing lamps, enjoying social intercourse over an intermediate meal which, as it came between supper and breakfast, has not yet obtained a name.