Uncle William’s eye swept the map and he laid his great hand on it affectionately, spreading the fingers wide. “It does feel good to think you’ve seen it,” he said, “But I’d rather be right here with you and Benjy a-traveling this way—after them young things, that don’t know where they’re sailing or what kind of waters they’re comin’ to—and not trusting the Lord even—not fairly trustin’ him, so to speak—just kind o’ thinkin’ of him as suthin’ to fall back on if a storm comes up—a real hard one—kind of a tornado like.” “She’s a good boat,” said the tall man. “She’s all right, Benjy—and they’re nice children,” responded Uncle William, “and I hope they won’t hurry a mite about getting round the earth.... The rate they’re goin’ now—when they wrote—I reckon it ’ll take just about twenty-five years,” he said reflectively.... “They don’t say how far North they plan to make, but I kind o’ reckon they ’ll cut across from here—from Battle Harbor to Disco, and then skirt along down the Cape, and up,”... His finger followed the course with slow touch and the smoke curled about his head with deep, contemplative puffs. His eye ran back over the course and lingered on a bit of clear water to the North. “It does seem a pity not to go up there—when they’re so near,” he said regretfully, “and best kind of weather, too.”... His eye grew dreamy—“It was along ’71, I sailed there—along with Captain Hall—You know that last voyage of his? We had one eye on whales and one on the Pole, I reckon... and the Polaris, she edged and edged, up and up. Some days I didn’t know but she would strike the Pole—run smack into it.... We ’d got up here through the Strait and up Smith’s Sound... and on beyond—the farthest of anybody’t that time—and Captain Hall, he was for pushing on—and all of ’em, except Buddington—he was sailing master and that slow, cautious kind—no sort o’ timber to go after the North Pole with—but he said we ’d winter right there—’twas somewheres along in August then—and we run back a little to a good place—and that’s where it got its name now, ’Polaris Bay’—we was the ones that named it.” Uncle William looked at it, with the pride of possession, and rubbed his finger on it. “Well, we stayed there.... But Captain Hall—you couldn’t hold him still, and he was all the time sledgin’ off, one way and another—to see what the earth was doin’ up that way—and it run along into October—the last of the month—It all seems like yesterday,” said Uncle William slowly.... “I was a young fellow, you see—not more ’n twenty-two-three, and I’d left Jennie down here, and gone up there—so’s to make money faster.”—His eye traveled about the red room... and came back to the map... “and there we was, settin’ down up there—waitin’ for winter and not a whale in sight—and then, all of a sudden, before you could say Jack Robinson—Captain Hall died.... There was whisperin’s around among the crew about the way he was took and the Navy went into it later—but nothin’ was proved...