He pointed at that which the others saw as soon as he, for a brilliant meteor suddenly flashed into sight, formed an arc in the sky, and disappeared, leaving a thin line of sparks behind it for a moment or two before they died out. "What was that?" cried Steve. "A meteor," said the captain. "One of the little bodies which astronomers say burst into light in passing through our atmosphere. But come; the fireside is the best place on a night like this." They retired to the cabin, after carefully tying the points of the canvas down; and, after a walk right forward by the dim light of the lanthorns to see that the men were all comfortable and well, the trio returned to the cabin, where the stove was crackling and roaring, and the hanging lamp, books, papers, and chess-board looked cheery and home-like. Skene followed them and stood at the door in a deprecating fashion, slowly waving his plume-like tail from side to side, and looking, Steve said, as if he would come in and stay if he were asked. "Yes, come in," said the captain. The dog entered with a bound, and couched instantly at the front of the stove. "It's getting intensely cold now," said the captain, taking up the log-book to make an entry or two. "I thought so," said the doctor; "but after my experience of this afternoon I was afraid I might be wrong again. What do you say, Steve?" "I think it's as cold as we've had it, sir. We can see our breath here before this hot fire." "Look here!" exclaimed Captain Marsham, as he sat, pen in hand, examining the inkstand. "What's the matter? No ink?" "Ink? Yes; but look here--frozen, and in this cabin!" There was the fact; the ink-glass was partly full of splinters and scales of ice, while the bottom was like thick, melted black snow. "Well, we can't have it any colder than that, can we?" asked Steve; and then he started, for Skene suddenly sprang to his feet, his hair rose about his throat, and he uttered a low growl. "What does he hear?" said the captain, after placing the ink to thaw. "I know," cried Steve, "though I didn't hear it. Andra must have got out his pipes, and is playing what he calls a chune." "Very likely," said the captain, turning the ink. "He doesn't like it," continued Steve. "I wonder any one can bear the noise." "Tastes differ, my lad," said the captain. "The men seem to like the sounds on these long, dark nights. I wish we had some one who could play the fiddle, too." "Johannes can, and he has one with him," said Steve eagerly. "That's good news, for I want the lads to enjoy themselves, and a little music is the very thing for them. Quiet, dog, quiet! if you mean to stay here." For Skene had gone excitedly to the closed door, placed his nose to the crack at the bottom, and growled fiercely. "It isn't the pipes," said Steve, springing up. "He hears something. What is it, Skene?" "R-rr-rr-ra!" growled the dog in low, menacing tones.