THE YOUNG ESQUIMAUX.

BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.

"It's no use, Fred."

"Why not, Rory? We could do it. I just know we could."

"You and I wouldn't be enough. Besides, we haven't the things, and we can't get 'em."

"No white bears, do you mean?"

"Yes, and no canoes, and spears, and bows and arrows. And look at the way they're dressed. It's no use playing Esquimaux, and not have anything to do it with."

"Now," said Fred, with another long look at the picture in the book, "you're going for too much. We can get all the boys."

"Guess we can, now they daren't start another snow-ball match."

"Think of all the snow, Rory. It's just thawed enough to pack. We can go back of the orchard and make a snow house as big as that."

Fred had spent his whole evening, the night before, over that book of Arctic Voyages, and he had brought it to bear on Rory the first thing after breakfast.

"I'll read it when we get home," said Rory; "but I'd better go around after some boys now."

"And I'll go and pick out a good place, and start the house."

The snow was deep enough anywhere that winter, but it was not a very cold day, and every drift and level was in prime condition for snow-balling. The difficulty was that too much of that kind of fun had been going on all the week, and so the grand "match" set for that Saturday had been forbidden by the Academy Trustees.

"They'd about half kill themselves if we'd let 'em," had been the solemn comment of old Squire Garrison, and nobody dreamed of disputing his decision, for he was President of the Board, and the wisest man in the village.

Rory was not gone long, and when he returned, and went through the yard and garden into the orchard, half a dozen boys were following him.

Fred had been at work. He had carried out the big wooden snow-shovel and the grain-scoop shovel and the spade, but the first question Bob Sanders asked was:

"Boards? What are they for? You don't want any boards in a snow house."

"And the Esquimaux don't have any," said Rory.

Fred had put down four of them flat on the snow, and was now shovelling a heap of snow upon them from the spot he had chosen for the house.

"Boards?" he said. "Why, boys, that's our brick-yard."

"Brick-yard? Snow bricks? What's the saw for? You can't cut snow with a saw."

"I'll show you. Just you fellows pile on snow, and bang it down hard with a spade. We're going to do just what the Esquimaux do."

"I've brought my own shovel," said Bill Evans, "and so has Barney Herriman."

"We want this foundation trodden hard and level first. It's pretty near ready. Now I'll mark it out."

There were other boys in that crowd who could beat Fred at some things, even at base-ball and swimming, and he had not taken a single prize at the end of the school term; but when it came to "making" anything, he could step right ahead, and they all knew it.

It was just as Barney Herriman said: "Come on, boys. Fred Park is boss of this job."

He was bossing it, as a matter of course, and it looked as if he knew pretty well what he was about.

He stuck a peg in the snow for a centre, and around that, with a string five feet long and another peg, he marked a circle that was just ten feet across.

"Now, boys, there's eight of us, and we can build the biggest snow house you ever saw. The snow packs splendidly. We'll make our bricks a foot wide and a foot high and a foot and a half long."

How they did pile the soft snow upon those boards, now they understood what they were meant for!

Bang! stamp! bang! down went the sticky heap, until Fred said he guessed it would cut.

"Keep on, boys; pile it up."

They couldn't help stopping to watch him, though, while he cut out his first bricks with that saw. It went through the snow so nice and easy, and Bill Evans remarked, "Can't he handle a saw!"

He worked away, till a dozen bricks were ready, and he made them a little shorter on one side than on the other.

"What's that for?" asked Bob Sanders. But then Bob never opened his mouth without asking something; and all Fred told him was,

"So they'll fit around in a circle. The short side goes in."

"It's the way the Esquimaux do," said Rory. "He read all about it in a book last night."

"Go ahead, boys," said Fred. "It'll take just thirty of those bricks to go around. It won't take so many after that."

They pounded and shovelled, while he cut and set the bricks, and then he went all around that circle with the back of the saw, shaving it off so it sloped inward a little.

"Won't it let 'em slip off?" asked Bob.

"Guess not. Don't you see how that one sticks? It only leans in a little. You'll see. Let's pitch in. The snow's grand."

So it was—just as if it had been made for bricks; and before long Barney Herriman found he could saw them out while Fred was putting them on, so that the house went up faster.

The round wall curved in and in, but each successive tier of snow bricks held itself up, just as Fred had seen in the picture of the Esquimaux at work.

It was not long before he had to send Rory into the house for a chair to stand on.

"I've got to stay inside."

"Well," said Bob Sanders, "don't you mean to have any door? How'll you get out after your roof's on?"

"Give me the saw, and I'll fix that while Rory's gone for the chair."

It was easy enough to cut a hole two feet square down at the floor, and Fred said, "We can make a long crawl-hole entry, such as the Esquimaux use, when we've finished the house."

"The roof's the toughest part of the job," said Bill Evans.

He was mistaken in that, however, for the last rounds of bricks were fitted in just as easily as any others, only Fred made them shorter and shorter, till there was only a hole a foot square left at the middle of the roof.

"Going to plug that up, are you?" asked Bob.

"Plug it up? Don't you suppose we want a chimney?"

"Well, but what'll you do for windows?"

"Tell you what, boys, if we had some slabs of ice that weren't too thick, we just could have some windows."

"Guess we can fix that," said Bill Evans. "Squire Garrison's men sawed a couple of loads of ice out of the pond yesterday, and it didn't freeze more'n an inch last night."

He and Joe Herriman and Wash McGee set off almost on a run after some of that ice, and they were back in less than twenty minutes with enough of it to glaze one of the big windows at the Academy.

Fred shouted when he saw it: "That beats the Esquimaux! Why, it's as clear as glass. The light'll come right through."

So it did, when the ice windows were finished, and you could see to read inside the house, but you could not enjoy the scenery much through those windows.

"Won't need any blinds," said Barney Herriman, "to keep folks from looking in."

"Hullo! see what Rory's got."

"Buffalo-skins!"

"Two of 'em."

"Boys, we must put in some furniture. Snow benches—"

"And a snow stove."

"No, I guess the Esquimaux get along without a stove. But then they have piles and piles of bear-skins, and seal-skins, and reindeer-skins, and all sorts, and they eat whale blubber to keep 'em warm."

"Won't roast pork do just as well?" asked Bob Sanders.

"Well, it might, if it's the fattest kind of pork."

"'Cause that's what we're going to have for dinner at our house. I'll eat enough to keep me warm, if I stay in there all the afternoon."

"Come in, boys," said Fred. "And bring in the buffalo-skins. Let's try it."

They all crept in, one after the other, and sat down on the soft furs like so many Turks.

"They'll want these in the sleigh by-and-by," said Rory.

"Isn't this jolly, though?"

"It's warm enough without any kind of fire."

"I don't want any blubber."

"Nor any pork, either."

"Tell you what, boys, if it freezes good and hard to-night, this house'll be wonderfully strong. We'll make an entryway just such as I saw in the picture, and we'll get some old carpet, and some stools—"

"Hullo, boys! Fred! Rory! What have you done with my buffalo-robes?"

It was the voice of Dr. Park himself, outside; and then they heard the great, deep, gruff tones of Squire Garrison himself.

"I declare, Doctor, they've done it! Bricks! All of a size."

"Cost them a good deal of hard work, I should say."

"Don't tell 'em, Doctor. Don't let 'em know it was work. They'd never build another. Couldn't hire 'em to."

Fred and Rory were crawling out with the buffalo-skins, and their father said to them:

"It won't do, boys; the Esquimaux never kill any buffaloes."

"Bears, father—white bears—"

"And seals, and whales, and walruses, and—"

"Doctor," exclaimed Squire Garrison, "I'm for a look inside."

The other boys had been keeping as still as so many mice, except that they had very promptly kicked the buffalo-skins out from under them, and half of them had their hands before their mouths now to keep from laughing, as Squire Garrison knocked his tall hat off against the snow bricks, and his big gray head came poking in.

Chuckle, chuckle, from the boys, and the Squire looked up.

"I declare, Doctor! Such a lot of young bears!"

"Bears? Oh no, Squire, they're Esquimaux Indians. I heard them talking it over this morning. Can you see inside?"

"See? Why, I can stand up! It's capital. Windows, too. Is that glass?"

"No, sir, it's ice."

"Tell you what, boys, this is nice."

"We're going to stick icicles all around, and make it real pretty, by-and-by," said Fred.

"Then you come over and get my big square barn lantern, and see how that'll make it look after dark."

The Squire was a good friend of boys and fun, after all, and both he and the Doctor came out that evening to see the white walls of the Esquimaux hut, and the liberal allowance of icicles the boys had stuck up, glitter and shine and wink in the light of the great lantern.

THE NEW YEAR.