“In four hours,” said Speed, “if the moon is out, we shall sail away. Tomorrow evening will be Christmas Eve, and we still have seven hundred miles to go.”
“Seven—seven hundred!” Mary exclaimed. “Can we make it?”
“If the sun and moon smile on us,” Speed replied cheerfully.
Little wonder that Mary whispered a prayer for clear skies before she fell asleep.
Meanwhile three cute children, Margaret, Nellie, and Tom, the only white children at far-off Cape Prince of Wales, were doing their best to make up for the loss of their presents. The Christmas tree of willow branches and a driftwood log had been set up. Behind closely drawn blinds, they had done their best to decorate it. Rustling willow leaves had been brightened by many feet of colored popcorn strings. Here and there a red, green or orange box hung. Safely shielded from dry leaves, twenty candles shone. Common white candles they were, but who cared for that?
“It’s grand!” exclaimed Margaret.
“Not half bad,” Tom agreed.
“But just think what it might have been!” Nellie struggled to hold back a tear.
Outside in the frosty night, little Kud-lucy and No-wad-luk, two little Eskimo children, were peeking through a crack not quite covered by a shade.
“Oh, good!” Kud-lucy danced up and down. “It’s the Christmas tree after all! And it’s almost as bright as the sun!”