This untutored woman of the Arctic lands met her son’s proposition with the well-known reply of many civilised persons.
“Of what use would it be, my son? No good can come of searching out these poor lands. You cannot benefit the miserable Kablunets. Perhaps they are savage and fierce; and you are sure to meet with dangers by the way. Worse—you may die!”
“Mother,” returned Chingatok, “when the white bear stands up with his claws above my head and his mouth a-gape, does my hand tremble or my spear fail?”
“No, my son.”
“Then why do you speak to me of danger and death?”
Toolooha was not gifted with argumentative powers. She relapsed into silence and lamp-smoke.
But her son was not to be so easily dissuaded. He adopted a line of reasoning which never failed.
“Mother,” he said, sadly, “it may be that you are right, and I am of too fearful a spirit to venture far away from you by myself; I will remain here if you think me a coward.”
“Don’t say so, Chingatok. You know what I think. Go, if you must go, but who will hunt for your poor old mother when you are gone?”
This was an appeal which the astute little woman knew to be very powerful with her son. She buried her head in the smoke again, and left the question to simmer.