I tried to cure her of this habit of climbing by tying her up with a chain which Knorr made for me of some iron wire; but she took it so much to heart that I had to let her go. Her efforts to free herself were very amusing, and she well earned her freedom. She tried continually to break the chain, and, having once succeeded, she seemed determined not to be baffled in her subsequent attempts. As long as I was watching her she would be quiet enough, coiled up in her bed or her tub of snow; but the moment my eyes were off her, or she thought me asleep, she worked hard to effect her liberation. First she would draw herself back as far as she could get, and then suddenly darting forward, would bring up at the end of her chain with a jerk which sent her reeling on the floor; then she would pick herself up, panting as if her little heart would break, shake out her disarranged coat, and try again. But this she would do with much deliberation. For a moment she would sit quietly down, cock her head cunningly on one side, follow the chain with her eye along its whole length to its fastening in the floor, and then she would walk leisurely to that point, hesitate a moment, and then make another plunge. All this time she would eye me sharply, and if I made any movement, she would fall down at once on the floor and pretend sleep. She is a very neat and cleanly creature. She is everlastingly brushing her clothes, and she bathes very regularly in her bath of snow. This last is her great delight. She roots up the clean white flakes with her diminutive nose, rolls and rubs and half buries herself in them, wipes her face with her soft paws, and when all is over she mounts with her delicate fingers to the side of the tub, looks around her very knowingly, and barks the prettiest little bark that ever was heard. This is her way of enforcing admiration; and, being now satisfied with her performance, she gives a goodly number of shakes to her sparkling coat, and then, happy and refreshed, she crawls to her airy bed in the "bull's-eye" and sleeps. CHAPTER XVII. THE ARCTIC NIGHT. January 20th. The Morn is coming! A faint twilight flush mounted the southern sky to-day at the meridian hour, and, although barely perceptible, it was a cheering sight to all of us. At our usual Sunday gathering, I read from Ecclesiastes these lines:-- "Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eye to behold the sun." And this suggested the text for our evening conversation; and we talked long of the future and of what was to be done, with the coming again of the god of day. We all feel now that the veil of night is lifting, that the cloud is passing away, that the heavy load of darkness is being lightened. The people have exhausted their means of amusement; the newspaper has died a natural death; theatricals are impossible; and there is nothing new to break the weariness of the long hours.