Gradually his thoughts turned homeward, and he thought of the dear ones who circled round his own fireside, and perchance talked of him—­of the various companions he had left behind, and the scenes of life and beauty where he used to wander.  But such memories led him irresistibly to the Far North again; for in all home-scenes the figure of his father started up, and he was back again in an instant, searching toilsomely among the floes and icebergs of the Polar Seas.  It was the invariable ending of poor Fred’s meditations, and, however successful he might be in entering for a time into the spirit of fun that characterized most of the doings of his shipmates, and in following the bent of his own joyous nature, in the hours of solitude and in the dark night, when no one saw him, his mind ever reverted to the one engrossing subject, like the oscillating needle to the Pole.

As he continued to gaze up long and earnestly into the starry sky, his thoughts began to wander over the past and the present at random, and a cold shudder warned him that it was time to return to the hut.  But the wandering thoughts and fancies seemed to chain him to the spot, so that he could not tear himself away.  Then a dreamy feeling of rest and comfort began to steal over his senses, and he thought how pleasant it would be to lie down and slumber; but he knew that would be dangerous, so he determined not to do it.

Suddenly he felt himself touched, and heard a voice whispering in his ear.  Then it sounded loud.  “Hallo, sir!  Mr. Ellice!  Wake up, sir! d’ye hear me?” and he felt himself shaken so violently that his teeth rattled together.  Opening his eyes reluctantly, he found that he was stretched at full length on the snow, and Joseph West was shaking him by the shoulder as if he meant to dislocate his arm.

“Hallo, West! is that you?  Let me alone, man, I want to sleep.”  Fred sank down again instantly:  that deadly sleep produced by cold, and from which those who indulge in it never awaken, was upon him.

“Sleep!” cried West frantically; “you’ll die, sir, if you don’t rouse up.—­Hallo!  Meetuck!  O’Riley! help! here.’

“I tell you,” murmured Fred faintly, “I want to sleep—­only a moment or two—­ah!  I see; is the hut finished?  Well, well, go, leave me.  I’ll follow—­in—­a—­”

His voice died away again, just as Meetuck and O’Riley came running up.  The instant the former saw how matters stood, he raised Fred in his powerful arms, set him on his feet, and shook him with such vigour that it seemed as if every bone in his body must be forced out of joint.

“What mane ye by that, ye blubber-bag?” cried the Irishman wrathfully, doubling his mittened fists and advancing in a threatening manner towards the Esquimau; but seeing that the savage paid not the least attention to him, and kept on shaking Fred violently with a good-humoured smile on his countenance, he wisely desisted from interfering.