"If it hasn't gone already, it
will soon in this blow, for the sea is eating away the ice floe on all
sides. Don't worry, Jimmy. We'll make out, _igloo_ or no _igloo_. Look
at the dogs. They don't have _igloos_ ever. But I'm weak with hunger.
I've got to eat a biscuit before I do another thing."
Together they dug away the snow and found the food bag, and from it
extracted some sea biscuits, and each cut for himself a thick piece of
the boiled fat pork, frozen as hard as pork will freeze, but
nevertheless very palatable to the famished young castaways. And
crouching close together under the lee of the _komatik_ they munched in
silence.
"If it wasn't for these big hummocks we'd be blown clear off the ice,"
said Bobby, finally. "We've no idea how strong the wind is and how it
sweeps over the level ice out there. The dogs are wise to get under the
drift so soon."
They again fell into silence for a little while, when Jimmy remarked,
sadly:
"We'll never see home again, I suppose! There's no hope that I can see
of getting off this floe. I wonder what it will be like to die."
"I'm not thinking about dying," said Bobby, "and I'm not going to die
till I have to. It's the last thing I expect to do. I'm thinking about
getting a shelter made before it gets dark, and then keeping alive on
here, and as comfortable as we can, until we get ashore."
"I don't see how we're ever going to get ashore," Jimmy solemnly
insisted. "Not that I feel scared, though I'd rather live than die.
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