happy courage of ignorance he wagged his tail all day on deck; wagged his tail as he followed us on the ice; wagged it, even when Sumbu stole his dinner; wagged it, even before the jaws of a bear. Gillis, the fifth Newfoundland, was incessantly quarrelling, and was the irreconcilable enemy of Jubinal; he was a favourite with no one, chiefly because he had killed the two cats which we brought from Tromsoe as pets for the dogs. His body was covered with scars, and half his time was spent under the medical treatment of the Tyrolese. He was not wanting in docility, but he was essentially an eye-pleaser; all his efforts in the sledge were mere sham. Pekel, the Lapp, was the smallest of all the dogs. In his early days he had tended the reindeer at the North Cape and on the plains of Tana Elf, and his ways did not fit him for life amid the ice, but for the brown herd which roamed at the foot of Kilpis. Hence he was quarrelsome, and showed special enmity to Sumbu, the mere sight of whom was enough to stir up the most hostile feelings. He was therefore banished with his house to a high ice-cliff, but the thaw destroying its supports, house and dog fell plump into an ice-lake. Among all the dogs there was no such desperate hypocrite as Sumbu, the most demonstrative in his friendship, but withal the most greedy and dissatisfied. He was the first to slink away with tail between his legs and find out the most secluded nook, when he saw the other dogs being harnessed in the sledges; and, when pulled out and put in a team, at once laid himself down on the sledge, not to draw, but to be drawn. When at last he was set in motion, he was no longer the same dog. He was then full of action, unsurpassed in speed and agility, and his sportiveness was as great as his cunning. From the carpenter he would carry off a hoop, or a bag of nails from the stoker, or he lay flat on his belly and thrust out his long nose in the snow. His agility stood him in good stead, for it enabled him to catch all the mice that ventured on deck. Neither the stores of provisions for the dogs nor the depôt of food for the crew were safe from his depredations. He hated bears so fiercely, that he began to howl like a wolf when we turned out to hunt them. Boldly he followed up their trail, even when at a distance from the hunters and close to the heels of the bear. The dogs were fed once a day with bear’s flesh or blubber, or dried horse-flesh, as long as it lasted.[24] They well knew the hour of feeding, and gathered together before it arrived. At night they were shut up in their house, and when the snow drifted they all lay huddled in a heap before the door. The dog-house was about eight feet high, but after a few weeks we could scarcely discern it from the accumulation of snow-drifts. For some time we kept up communication with it by means of a shaft dug in the snow; but one day in February a fissure in the ice was formed right across where the house stood, which compelled us to remove it.