Fred and Rory were crawling out with the buffalo-skins, and their father said to them:
"It won't do, boys; the Esquimaux never kill any buffaloes."
"Bears, father—white bears—"
"And seals, and whales, and walruses, and—"
"Doctor," exclaimed Squire Garrison, "I'm for a look inside."
The other boys had been keeping as still as so many mice, except that they had very promptly kicked the buffalo-skins out from under them, and half of them had their hands before their mouths now to keep from laughing, as Squire Garrison knocked his tall hat off against the snow bricks, and his big gray head came poking in.
Chuckle, chuckle, from the boys, and the Squire looked up.
"I declare, Doctor! Such a lot of young bears!"
"Bears? Oh no, Squire, they're Esquimaux Indians. I heard them talking it over this morning. Can you see inside?"
"See? Why, I can stand up! It's capital. Windows, too. Is that glass?"