"Other names than those I know not that they had. My father reared me, and I never saw another human being until I met those of the party of Captain Scoland. My father died. He gave me a message to bring to the north--a message addressed to the National Geographic Society of the United States. In that message, he told me, was the story of a great discovery he had made--that would ring around the world--and in it also was the history of myself, which he never told me. We lived far to the south for many years, for my father hurt himself in a fall and could not travel. "When he died and I came north, I passed and burned the ship in which he went to the south. Its name was the Yedda. "This man has reached the pole. I do not wish to make his glory dim, but--he is not the first to stand at the pole. I have come here--" He hesitated and glanced around the circuit of the big table. Every man there was leaning forward in strained attention. "The message--the message your father sent?" queried President Dean, and held out a shaking hand. "Give us that message." "I have lost that message," said Polaris quietly. Scoland burst into a peal of derisive laughter. "A joke, gentlemen--a joke!" he cried. "I don't know who and what this young man is, but he has a rare sense of humor." "Young man," continued the president severely, "this is a strange tale you have told--an almost unbelievable tale. Yet this society has listened to many strange tales. All that is lacking to make history of the strangest of tales is proof. You say you have lost your message. Without proof, no claim can stand before this society. I advise you most strongly to find that message, if such a message you have, and bring it before us. Until you do, the society cannot listen to you further." He inclined his head and beckoned to the clerk at the door to show Polaris from the room. Polaris hesitated. There apparently was nothing more to be said. Still he hesitated. Then he heard two sounds behind him that caused him to turn like lightning. They were a quick little gasp and an astounded whine. Framed in the doorway stood a girl and a great gray dog! CHAPTER XXIII A MESSAGE AND THE END "Rose Emer!" With his whole heart in those two spoken words, Polaris made as if he would spring forward. But masking the heart is the mind, and the mind of Polaris held him still. So he stood, with his bosom swelling until it seemed that it must burst the unwonted garments which confined it. One faithful soul was there whom conventions and the chill doubts that beset human hearts and brains did not restrain. With one leap Marcus crossed the space between the threshold and Polaris. He reared, and when his paws rested on the shoulders of the man, the eyes of the dog and man met.