migan fed upon the buds of a clump of arctic 

 willow that was dwarfed almost out of existence. 

 I felt as though in the polar world. " Here is the 

 environment of the Eskimo," I discoursed to 

 myself. "He ought to be found in this kind of 

 place. Here are icebergs, frozen tundras, white 

 ptarmigan, dwarf willows, treeless distances. 

 If arctic plants were transported down here on 

 the Big Ice Floe, surely some Eskimo must have 

 been swept along. Why did n't he stay? The 

 climate was better, but perhaps he missed his 

 blubber and sea food, and there was no mid- 

 night sun and the nights were extremely short. 

 The pale and infrequent aurora borealis must 

 have reminded him of better nights, if not better 

 days. Anyway, even for the Eskimo, there is no 

 place like home, even though it be in a domed 

 and dingy ice house amid the eternal snows and 

 beneath the wonderful sky of northern lights." 

 There are fields of varied wild flowers. Bril- 

 liant in color, dainty, beautiful, and graceful, 

 they appear at their best amid the wild mag- 

 nificence of rocky peaks, alpine lakes, and aged 

 snow-fields, and on the far-extending lonely 



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