Arbalik laughed lightly as he let fly a spear with a jaunty, almost careless, air, and transfixed a bird on the wing.
“Well done!” cried the wizard, with a burst of genuine admiration; “your wife will never know hunger.”
“Not after I get her,” returned the youth, with a laugh, as he flung another spear, and transfixed a second bird.
Ippegoo looked on with slightly envious but not malevolent feelings, for he was a harmless lad.
“Try again,” cried Arbalik, turning to him with a broad grin, as he offered him one of his own spears.
Ippegoo took the weapon, launched it, and, to his own great surprise and delight, sent it straight through the heart of a bird, which fell like a stone.
A shout of pleasure burst from Arbalik, who was far too good a shot to entertain mean feelings of jealousy at the success of others.
“It is the luck of the spear,” said Ujarak, “not the skill of the hunter.”
This would have been an unkind cut to ordinary mortals, but it fell as harmless on Ippegoo as water on the back of the eider-duck. A snub from the wizard he took almost as a compliment, and the mere success of his shot afforded him unbounded pleasure.
The good-natured Arbalik offered him another spear, but Ujarak interposed.