“You may speak, my son.”
“Then,” continued Chingatok, “I would advise that there should be three chiefs, who shall be equal—my father, Grabantak, and Makitok. Let these consult about our affairs. Let the people appoint twelve men to hold council with them, and what the most of them agree to shall be done.”
After some further talk this compromise was agreed to.
“But the laws of Poloeland and those of Flatland are different,” said Amalatok, starting another objection. “We must have the same laws.”
“My brother chief is wise,” said Grabantak. “Let us have new laws, and let that wise young Kablunet, Alf, make them.”
“Both my brother chiefs are wise,” said Makitok. “Let it be done, and let him take the laws out of the little thing that speaks to him.” (Thus they referred to the Bible, having no word in their language by which to name it.)
Great was the surprise of Alf at the honour and labour thus thrust upon him, but he did not shrink from it. On the contrary, he set to work at once with notebook and pencil, and set down the two “Great Commandments:” “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind;” and, “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself,” as the first law in the new code. He set down as the second the golden rule, “Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so to them.”
Proceeding from these as a basis, he worked his way gradually down the code till he had embraced nearly all the possibilities of Eskimo life—a work which kept him busy all the winter, and was not quite finished when “time and tide” obliged him and his companions to quit the land.
Now, not long after this eventful council, Benjy Vane burst rather irreverently into his father’s hut with excited looks, holding what looked like an old book in his hand.
“What have you got there, lad?”