The next day the Esquimo called and left a little more meat and blubber. We caught two small foxes, one of them in a trap, and the other was arrested by a shot from Dr. Hayes's gun. The audacious little fellow run over the roof of our hut and awoke the doctor, who, without dressing, seized his double-barreled gun, and bolted into the cold without. It was dark, and he fired at random. The first shot missed, but the second wounded him, and he went limping down the hill. The doctor gave chase and returned with the game, but came near paying dear for his prize, barely escaping without frozen feet. On Sunday, the twenty-ninth, in the midst of pensive allusions, and more pensive thoughts, concerning home, in which even Petersen's weather-beaten face betrayed a tear, an Esquimo boy came in from Akbat. His bearing was manly, his countenance fresh and agreeable, if not handsome, and his dress, of the usual material, was new. He drove a fine team with decided spirit. He was evidently somebody's pet, and we thought we saw a mother's partial stamp upon him. He was on his way to Netlik, and our curious inquiries brought from him the blushing acknowledgment that he was going "a courting!" He was nothing loath to talk of his sweetheart, and he bore her a bundle of bird-skins to make her an under garment as love-token. We gave him a pocket-knife and a piece of wood, to which we added two needles for his lady-love. He was full of joy at this good fortune, but when Sontag added a string of beads for her his cup run over. He had on his sledge two small pieces of blubber, a pound of bear's meat, a bit of bear's skin. These he laid at our feet, and dashed off toward Netlik in fine spirits. When he was gone we renewed our ever-returning, perplexing, never-settled question, What shall we do? We could agree on no plans of escape, for all seemed impossible of execution. Yet we did agree in the expediency of opening a communication with the brig. But how to do it was the question. Our dependence upon the Esquimo growing more humiliatingly absolute every day, pained us. We feared their treachery, of which we already saw some signs. "What _shall we do_?" was ever repeated. While thus perplexed, Kalutunah made his appearance. With him were a young hunter, and a woman with a six months' old baby. The little one was wrapped in fox-skin, and thrust into its mother's hood, which hung on her neck behind. It peered out of its hiding-place with a contented and curious expression of face. Its mother had come forty miles, sometimes walking over the hummocky way, with the thermometer thirty-eight degrees below zero, with a liability of encountering terrific storms, and all to see the white men and their _igloë_. Mother and child arrived in good condition.