"The first," said Lucile, "is a flat, native seal-oil lamp. We can burn our seal-oil in it. I have a handful of moss in my pocket to string along the side for wick. It'll make it more cheery and it'll seem warmer. The other," she went on, "is a frozen whitefish; found it on one of the caches. Guess the natives won't miss it if they come back."
"If they do. But where are they?" asked Marian in a puzzled tone of voice.
"Dead, perhaps. Let's eat," she added abruptly, as Marian shivered.
"But, Lucile, we can't cook the fish."
"Don't have to. Frozen fish is good raw if it's frozen hard enough. I've tried it before. You just shave it off thin like chipped dried beef and gulp it right down before it tastes too fishy."
Marian did not think she would like it, but she found it not half bad.
When they had dined, and had sat by the yellow glow of their seal-oil lamp for a time, they took a good long look at the moon as it shone out over the shimmering whiteness of the sea.
"That," said Marian impressively, "is the same moon that is shining on all our friends wherever they are to-night."
The thought gave them a deal of comfort.
When, in time, their sleeping-bag was spread out on the floor, and they had snuggled comfortably down into its soft depths and were ready to go off into the land of dreams, with their seal-oil lamp still flickering in one corner, Marian said with a laugh: "Snug as two little Red Riding Hoods."