The unexpected enmity of the natives of Arcturia was very distressing
to Maida, while her little friend Kokomo was filled with fear at the
prospect before her. She clung to the Man with the Growly Voice, and
moaned: “When we go to your dreadful land where all is green, you will
not let me turn green too,--will you? Nor will you let aught befall me.
Ah, I know you will not I fear me lest the awful grass pursue me as we
stroll on the green rivers--I tremble much lest some savage trees catch
and kill me.”
“Have no fear, little snowbird,” replied the Man with the Growly Voice
cheerfully, in a most reassuring manner; “you will be perfectly safe.
All the grass is tame, and with the exercise of a little agility you
can easily escape the attack of the most ferocious tree.” Whereupon
Kokomo was much comforted.
[Illustration: “How Do You Do?” in Eskimo]
Maida felt so sorry for Kokomo that she ran over to her, flung her arms
about her neck, and kissed her. Now, of course, Maida meant well; she
only wanted to make Kokomo happy; but it was the first kiss that had
ever happened in Arcturia. When the Eskimos wish to show great joy, and
welcome or salute someone, they stand on the right foot, rub their nose
with the left hand, and wiggle the left ear. So when Kankakee saw Maida
kiss his daughter he gave a howl of anger, and in a moment there were
half a dozen keen spears pointing at her bosom. And, of course, she
screamed.
“She was trying to steal my daughter’s breath,” shouted Kankakee, as
Jack-in-the-Box and the Candy Kid tried to restrain him. “Tell me, oh,
my daughter, are you hurt?”
Kokomo considered for a moment, thought it all over, decided that she
was not hurt at all, and ended by going to Maida for another kiss.
“Oh, my father,” she said, after she got it, “this magic of the white
maiden is really very nice.”
This aroused the curiosity of Kankakee, who called Oshkosh and
awkwardly kissed him; but as Oshkosh was seventy years old, very ugly,
and extremely wrinkled, the result of the experiment was far from
pleasing; so Kankakee grunted his disapproval and arranged the line
of march. There was quite a procession when the caravan was complete.
First came twenty Eskimos on snowshoes. Then ten sledges drawn by dog
teams (on one of which rode Kokomo and the Man with the Growly Voice).
These were followed by Fido, still bearing Maida on his back, escorted
by the faithful Jack and the Candy Kid. Santa Claus was close behind
with his reindeer sleigh in which rode Billy, the White Lady, and the
Disconsolate Lover--while Kankakee came last, striding along behind to
see that no one straggled. When they were all in line, ready to start,
Kankakee warned them of the danger. “You are now in the Forbidden
Land,” he said, “and it is unlawful for any mortal to cross it. Keep
close together, and do not speak lest your voices betray you to one of
the snow sprites, who serve the Queen Aurora Borealis. Burrow beneath
the snow if danger threatens, and lie hidden till it has passed. The
most deadly peril we will encounter is Jack Frost. He may not discover
us--but if he should our fate is sealed. Mush!”
Maida began to feel a little uneasy. It wasn’t such a joke after all to
find the Wishing Post.
She must have dozed a little, for suddenly she awoke with a start to
find that everybody was standing still, looking at a strange being who
stood in their path. The Eskimos were cowering in a huddle and the dogs
lay on their stomachs with their ears flattened on their heads, looking
very much afraid. He who opposed their march was very beautiful--yet
very terrible, and Maida was so fascinated she could look at nothing
else. He was tall, oh, very tall, and rather thin. His face was lean
and white, and his nose curved like the beak of an eagle. But his eyes,
oh, those wonderful cruel eyes, they were light blue, and oh, so cold.
When he looked at Maida she shivered. In his hand he carried a sword,
not of steel, but made of something white that shone and glistened.
His dress too, was all white and glittery, but rather thin, though he
didn’t seem to mind the cold at all. While Maida was staring at him one
of the dogs leaped toward him. He did not move, or turn his head, he
merely let the end of the white sword fall till it touched the dog and
the poor creature fell over on its back--all stiff and frozen.
Then Maida knew who it was. It could be no one but Jack Frost, King
of the North Wind. Were you ever dreadfully frightened at a cow, or a
big bug, or even a snake? Well, do you remember that sting-y, creepy
feeling that went over the roots of your hair? Maida felt that every
separate hair was standing out straight in a different direction.
“You are mortals,” finally said Jack Frost, and the look on his face
was anything but pretty. “You are mortals and you have dared to cross
the Forbidden Land. What have you to say?”
No one had anything to say.
“You know the penalty,” he continued. “No mortal has braved my wrath
and lived.” All the Eskimos knelt before him and began to implore
mercy, but he paid no attention to them.
“Now pay the price of your madness,” he cried, and he waved the sword
of white once about his head.
They heard a crack and a crash behind them, and turning about Maida saw
a wide space of open water which prevented them from retracing their
steps. They were afloat on a huge cake of ice. But she had no time
to think about it, for she saw the white sword flash through the air
again, and oh my, the cold was awful. Even poor old Fido shivered and
grunted, and when a Polar Bear feels chilly you may know it is really
wintry. A third time Jack Frost waved his white sword, then he laughed
in a ghastly way, leaped up in the air, and disappeared in a shower of
snow crystals. No sooner was he gone than the wind rose and a terrible
gale blew with great fury, urging the ice-cake along through the black
water, just like an immense ship.
Now, of course you know there isn’t much open water in the Arctic
Circle, but the whole sea is frozen over and covered with an ice-floe
which never melts. Well, the ice-cake they were on came to the end of
the open water, tilted up, slid out on the ice-floe, then they began
to fly along just as if they were in an ice-boat. The wind blew harder
and harder, the cake slid faster and faster, racking and thumping and
cracking and crashing, and it’s no secret now--Maida wished she had
never, never, never come, but that she was back in her own little pink
and white bed at home.