For many weeks summer has reigned in the arctics. Snow has disappeared. The ice has broken up and drifted away to the south; only a few bergs remain, like the remnants of a majestic fleet, wending their wandering way after the rest. For weeks on end it has been one long, glorious day, when the sun has scarcely set an hour. The weather is hot and the sky is blue. Arctic flowers and arctic heather gem the short turf; streams and cascades fill the valleys with the unwonted music of running water. The dogs lie about, basking in the sunshine, or betake themselves to the seashore to hunt for fish and such toothsome morsels as may be left in the rock pools by the falling tide. The village of sealskin tents is pitched in a sheltered spot near some handy stream, overlooking the inlet. Contentment, ease and plenty are the order of the day. The kyakers skim the waters of the bay, hunting as usual, and in the evening the boys have a turn in the same light craft, to practice with harpoon or birdspear. They vie with each other in skill and speed, and take lessons from their elders. The old men and women potter about, visiting each other. The crones occupy themselves teaching the younger women how things were best done in their day, and the granfers fight their own battles over again and exploit their own adventures, as they listen to the talk of the younger men—the tales of more recent feats accomplished, perils survived, and clever captures achieved. As the bright day wanes to that short twilight which is the arctic summer night, the men fetch their blankets from the tents, roll themselves up in them under the shelter of some boulder, and sleep in the open air. The month of the eider ducks has come and gone. The women have manned their boats and made their annual raid on the island where the birds breed, returning with hundreds of eggs, plenty of ducks, and a goodly store of eiderdown from the nests. The days have been one long, joyous picnic, all the hardships, privations and dangers of the winter forgotten. The babies, brown and mother-naked, have sprawled about in the sun and waxed fat and jolly, with the freedom and the play and the plenty of summer.