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Kalitan, Our Little Alaskan Cousin by Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
page 17 of 81 (20%)
comes from the Unknown! Deeper and deeper grew the snow. It flew like
feathers about the _eglu_,[5] and the slaves had many troubles in
putting in limbs for the fire. Then the snow came in flakes so large they
seemed like the wings of birds, and the house was covered, and they could
no longer keep their _kyaks_ on top of the snow. All were shut tight in
the house, and their fire and food ran low. They knew not how many days
they were shut in, for there was no way to tell the day from night, only
they knew they were sore hungry and that the Snow Spirit was angry and
terrible in his anger.

[Footnote 5: Hut.]

"But each one spoke not; he only chose a place where he should lie down
and die when he could bear no more.

"Only the chief spoke, and he once. 'Snow Spirit,' he said aloud, 'I
alone am evil. These are not so. Slay me and spare!' But the Snow Spirit
answered not, only the wind screamed around the _eglu_, and his screams
were terrible and sad. Then hope left the heart of the chief and he
prepared to die with all his people and all his slaves.

"But on the day when their last bit of food was gone, lo! something
pecked at the top of the smoke-hole, and it sang 'Nuck-tee,' and it was a
blue jay. The chief heard and saw and wondered, and, looking 'neath the
smoke-hole, he saw a scarlet something upon the floor. Picking it up, he
found it was a bunch of Indian tomato berries, red and ripe, and quickly
hope sprang in his breast.

"'Somewhere is summer,' he cried, 'Let us up and away.'

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