Among these followers was a tall and stalwart son of his own, to whom he was rather stern, and not very liberal. Perhaps the chief wished to train him with Spartan ideas of self-denial. Perhaps he wanted his followers to note his impartiality. Merkut did not, however, act on the same principles, for she quietly passed a number of valuable articles over to her dear son Koyatuk, unobserved by his stern father.
Things had gone on thus pleasantly for some time; the novelty of the gifts, and the interest in their explanation having apparently rendered these people forgetful of the fact that they might take them all at once; when a sudden change in the state of affairs was wrought by the utterance of one word.
“We must not,” said Leo to Anders, looking at his follower over the heads of the Eskimos, “forget poor little Oblooria.”
“Oblooria!” roared Grabantak with a start, as if he had been electrified.
“Oblooria!” echoed Koyatuk, glaring round.
“Oblooria!” gasped the entire band.
Another moment and Grabantak, bursting through the crowd, leaped towards the crouching girl and raised her face. Recognising her he uttered a yell which probably was meant for a cheer.
Hurrying the frightened girl into the circle through which he had broken, the chief presented her to his son, and, with an air worthy of a civilised courtier, said:—
“Your wife, Koyatuk—your Oblooria!—Looria!”
He went over the last syllables several times, as if he doubted his senses, and feared it was too good news to be true.