“Who would want to say no?” Florence was fairly overcome with joy. But there’s many a slip between a happy girl and a glorious Christmas of a particular sort, as you shall see.
Some hours later, in another corner of this Arctic world, the day before Christmas dawned bright and clear. A blue and gray plane rose gracefully up from a frozen river to go sailing away toward the north. And little Miss Santa Claus was still on board. Mr. Il-ay-ok was still her traveling companion and Speed Samson was at the controls.
Three hours they flew due north. Then they came down upon a white floor of shore-ice to rest and drink cups of steaming tea.
As Mary stepped from the plane she felt her nose pucker. It seemed too that someone with sharp tweezers had pinched her cheek.
“Cold! Boo!” she exclaimed.
“This is the North,” Speed laughed. “Just over yonder is the Arctic Circle. Should be able to see it in an hour or two.” He laughed again, and Mary laughed with him. But that they were at last quite far north they knew all too well.
Two hours later found them flying high over a vast black expanse, Bering Sea. As the girl looked down she shuddered. It seemed that this sea must be bottomless, for not a touch of light broke its deep, purple blackness.
Across this expanse, like fairy fleets, ice floes drifted. Once she was sure she saw a group of moving objects.
“Walrus!” Mr. Il-ay-ok shouted. “How you like landing among them?”
“We would not land among them,” was her answer. “Our plane can land on ice—not on water. We won’t land unless—” her heart skipped a beat.