“A dreadful business,” continued Simek; “but I got over it, as you shall hear. I too have a torngak. You need not laugh, my friends. It is true. He is only a little one, however—about so high, (holding up his thumb), and he never visits me except at night. One night he came to me, as I was lying on my back, gazing through a hole in the roof at our departed friends dancing in the sky. (See note.) He sat down on the bridge of my nose, and looked at me. I looked at him. Then he changed his position, sat down on my chin, and looked at me over my nose. Then he spoke.
“‘Do you know White-bear Bay?’ he asked.
“‘Know it?’ said I—‘do I know my own mother?’
“‘What answer is that?’ he said in surprise.
“Then I remembered that torngaks—especially little ones—don’t understand jokes, nothing but simple speech; so I laughed.
“‘Don’t laugh,’ he said, ‘your breath is strong.’ And that was true; besides, I had a bad cold at the time, so I advised him to get off my chin, for if I happened to cough he might fall in and be swallowed before I could prevent it.
“‘Tell me,’ said he, with a frown, ‘do you know White-bear Bay?’
“‘Yes!’ said I, in a shout that made him stagger.
“‘Go there,’ said he, ‘and you shall see a great walrus, as big as one of the boats of the women. Kill it.’
“The cold getting bad at that moment, I gave a tremendous sneeze, which blew my torngak away—”