Kalitan, Our Little Alaskan Cousin by Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
page 17 of 81 (20%)
page 17 of 81 (20%)
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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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