March 4th they saw the sun again, and never did they greet the rising of that great orb with such heartfelt joy.
A day later they started southward, Sipsa and the other Eskimos accompanying them to the mainland, which they reached safely in kayacks. Leaving all camp paraphernalia that they did not need, with the Eskimos, they left the children of the north happy and sorry to see their white friends go. Dick and Sandy, too, felt a pang in their hearts as Sipsa’s smiling face vanished out of their ken, probably never to be seen again. But as they left the Arctic behind them, under the spring sun, all feelings of regret at parting were replaced by one great and growing joy—they were going home!
It was a gala day at the trading post of Walter McClaren, Hudson’s Bay Factor; a day for feasting and story-telling. For Dick Kent and Sandy McClaren had come back from the far north.
In the big dining room the factor’s old Indian housekeeper and cook hovered about a long table loaded with the best products of her culinary art. Her stoic face could scarcely conceal the pleasure she derived from witnessing the seemingly insatiable appetites of her master’s nephew and his chum.
Walter McClaren, a big florid Scotchman, sat at the head of the table beaming upon the boys and recalling his own boyhood days. He believed boys should have plenty of excitement and outdoor experience, and as he listened to the ceaseless recounting of their recent adventures with the Eskimos, his smile grew broader and broader, while the roast turkey and dressing vanished along with sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie, stewed cranberries, and chocolate pudding.
“We just caught the boat going south,” Dick said between bites. “If we’d been a day later we’d have been held up more than a month before another boat came.”
“I think you fellows have been pretty lucky,” rejoined Sandy’s uncle. “If I’d known for a minute what I was sending you into, I’d never let you go.”
“But I’m glad we went,” returned Sandy. “I wouldn’t go through it again for anything, but just the same after it’s all over, I wouldn’t trade the experience for—for a commission in the mounted police.”
“That just reminds me that from what Inspector Dunbar says, you fellows are slated for some kind of a special medal or something for your services in the Arctic.”