LOST ON THE ICE-CAP 



By HUGH J. LEE 



•T WAS about February 20, 1894, just 

 a few days after the sun had come 

 back to us, and every one about the 

 lodge was delighted to think that all 

 had survived the terrible Arctic night. 

 A short time before, we had climbed 

 to the highest point of familiar Mount 

 Bartlett, the dark and towering cliff 

 which had stood, sentinel-like, above our lodge all through 

 the four months of darkness, and from its topmost point 

 we had looked off to the south, where just above the cliffs 

 of Tig-er-hom-iny on the south side of the gulf, we had 

 seen the upper rim of old Sol as he peeped up to take the 

 first glance into our little world. We had looked with joy 

 into each other's faces and had once again seen the sun 

 shining on them. To be sure it gave them a greenish tinge 



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