Chapter Two.
Unexpected Meetings, Alarms, and Confidences.
“Mother, I have been thinking,” said Chingatok, as he crept into his hut and sat down on a raised bench of moss.
“That is not news, my son; you think much. You are not like other men. They think little and eat much.”
The stout little woman looked up through the smoke of her cooking-lamp and smiled, but her big son was too much absorbed in his thoughts to observe her pleasantry, so she continued the cooking of a walrus chop in silence.
“The Kablunets are not to be seen, mother,” resumed Chingatok. “I have looked for them every day for a long time, and begin to weary. My thought is now to launch my kayak when we come to open water, load it with meat, take four spears and more lines than a strong hunter needs for a whole season; then paddle away south to discover the land of the Kablunets. They must be poor; they may be starving. I will guide them to our home, and show them this land of plenty.”
He paused abruptly, and looked at his mother with solemn anxiety, for he was well aware that he had given her food for profound reflection.
We feel tempted here to repeat our remark about the strong resemblance between different members of the human family, but refrain.