"Oh, Marian," said Lucile, as she thought of sleep, "that kiak's so crowded when we sleep there."
"Yes-s," said Marian, thoughtfully, "it is. I wonder if we couldn't make a sleeping-bag?"
At once needles and some sinew thread found in the native's hunting bag were gotten out, the four deerskins were spread out, two on the bottom and two on top, with the fur side inside, and they went to work with a will to fashion a rude sleeping-bag.
Their fingers shook with the chill wind that swept across the ice and their eyelids drooped often in sleep, yet they persevered and at last the thing was complete.
"Are you sure it won't be cold?" said Lucile, who had never slept in a sleeping-bag.
"Oh, no, I know it won't," Marian assured her. "I've heard my father tell of spreading his on the frozen ground when it was thirty below zero, and sleeping snug as a 'possum in a hollow tree."
"All right; let's try it," and Lucile spread the bag on the sealskin square.
After removing their skirts and rolling them up for pillows, together they slid down into the soft, warm depths of their Arctic bed.
"Um-m," whispered Marian.
"Um-m," Lucile answered back. And the next moment they were both fast asleep.