THE WINTER NIGHT 337 



among. Love is life's snow. It falls deepest and softest 

 into the gashes left by the fight — whiter and purer than 

 snow itself. What is life without love .^ It is like this 

 ice — a cold, bare, rugged mass, the wind driving it and 

 rending it and then forcing it together again, nothing to 

 cover over the open rifts, nothing to break the violence 

 of the collisions, nothing to round away the sharp cor- 

 ners of the broken floes — nothing, nothing but bare, rug- 

 ged drift-ice. 



"Saturday, December i6th. In the afternoon Peter 

 came quietly into the saloon, and said that he heard all 

 sorts of noises on the ice. There was a sound to the 

 north exactly like that of ice packing against land, and 

 then suddenly there was such a roar through the air that 

 the dogs started up and barked. Poor Peter! They 

 laugh at him when he comes down to "rive an account of 

 his many observations ; but there is not one among us as 

 sharp as he is. 



" Wednesday, December 20th. As I was sitting at 

 breakfast, Peter came roarinor that he believed he had 

 seen a bear on the ice, ' and that " Pan " set off the 

 moment he was loosed.' I rushed on to the ice with my 

 gun. Several men were to be seen in the moonlight, but 

 no bear. It was long before ' Pan ' came back ; he had 

 followed him far to the northwest. 



"Sverdrup and 'Smith Lars' in partnership have made 

 a great bear-trap, which was put out on the ice to-day. 

 As I was afraid of more dogs than bears beins^ causrht in 



