"Nonsense! Only women can mend kayahs. I will fix it. You go off and
take a walk, and then come to dinner. We are going to have a young
seal."

A seal! Wasn't that nice? Who wouldn't be a young Greenlander, own a
kayah, and have seal for dinner? The prospect before Sammy made him feel
better. The world, too, looked different.

"What a nice place we live in!" thought Sammy. "I wouldn't live in
Denmark for anything, old Denmark, where our rulers come from."

The scenery about the Greenland village was indeed interesting. There
was the blue sea before it, dotted with "pond-lilies." Off the mouth of
the harbor, the icebergs went sailing by, so white, so stately, so slow,
like a fleet almost becalmed. Back of the village swelled the rocky
cliffs bare of snow now, and many rivulets went flashing down their
sides from ponds and pools nestling in granite recesses. Away off,
towered the mountains, their still snowy tops suggesting the powdered
heads of grand old Titans sitting there in state.

"Who wouldn't live in Greenland?" thought Sammy, entirely forgetting the
long, cold, dark winter.

However, it was summer then. He went back of his mother's seal-skin
tent. There he could see a beautiful valley in the shadow of the
cliffs. Moss and grasses thickly carpeted it. Little brooks went
sparkling through it. There were flowers in bloom, poppies of gold,
dandelions and buttercups, saxifrages of purple, white and yellow. "And
trees were there?" asks a reader. Do you see that shrub just before