The boys did not appear to care much for the threat. They were obviously buoyed up with hope.
“Oh! do, do let us peep! just once!” entreated several of them in subdued but eager tones.
The sentinel shook his obdurate head and raised his deadly spear.
“We will make no noise,” said a youth who was the exact counterpart of Benjamin Vane in all respects except colour and costume—the first being dirty yellow and the latter hairy.
The sentinel frowned worse than ever.
“The Kablunets,” said another of the band, entreatingly, “shall hear nothing louder than the falling of a snow-flake or a bit of eider-down.”
Still the sentinel was inexorable.
The Eskimos were in despair.
Suddenly Benjy’s counterpart turned and fled to the village on light and noiseless toe. He returned immediately with a rich, odorous, steaming piece of blubber in his hand. It was a wise stroke of policy. The sentinel had been placed there without any reference to the fact that he had not had his supper. He was ravenously hungry. Can you blame him for lowering his spear, untying his eyebrows, and smiling blandly as the held out his hand?
“Just one peep, and it is yours,” said the counterpart, holding the morsel behind him.