Only two days ago he had thanked God for sparing the lives of the boys, and how proud he had been of their heroic action, and their pluck, too, after he had got them safe into the _igloo_! He could see them now--barely see them through the snow.

He watched their faint outlines, and then the swirling snow hid them, and the ice floe and only black waters remained.
Then it was that Skipper Ed fell to his knees, and, kneeling there in the driving Arctic storm and bitter cold, prayed God, as he had never prayed before, to work a miracle, and spare his loved ones to him.
Nothing, he remembered, was beyond God's power, and God was good.
When, presently, he arose from his knees, Skipper Ed felt strangely relieved.

A part, at least, of the load was lifted from his heart.

He could not account for the sensation, but, nevertheless, he felt stronger, and a degree of his old courage had returned.
He stood for a little longer gazing seaward, but nothing was to be seen but black, turbulent, surly waters and swirling snow, and at length he turned reluctantly back to his sledge.
The dogs were lying down, and already nearly covered by the drift.

He called to them to go forward, and, arriving at the _igloo_, listlessly unharnessed and fed them, and retreated to the shelter of the _igloo_ to think.
He could eat nothing that night, but he brewed some strong tea over the stone lamp.