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"Well, perhaps I do see a ghost there," returned the Captain with an effort to rouse his attention to things going on around him. "I see the ghost of things to come. I am looking through Toolooha's lamp into futurity." "And what does futurity look like?" asked Alf. "Bright or dark?" "Black black as me," muttered Butterface, as he approached and laid fresh viands before the party.
A slightly sorrowful look rested for a moment on Toolooha's benign countenance. It was evident that she suspected her son either of derangement, or having forsaken the paths of truth. But it passed like a summer cloud.
From pole to pole a mother's soul Is tender, strong, and true; Whether the loved be good or bad White, yellow, black, or blue. But Toolooha's love was wise as well as strong. If all else failed, she was wont to apply corporal punishment, and whacked her baby with her tail. Be not shocked, reader.
"No, lad, certainly not," replied the Captain, dreamily. "You've not been bumped very badly in the tumble, father, have you?" asked Benjy with an anxious look. "Bumped? no; what makes you think so?" "Because you're gazing at Toolooha's lamp as if you saw a ghost in it."
Above it was a small window, glazed, so to speak, with strips of semi-transparent dried intestines sewed together. Toolooha's cooking-lamp was made of soapstone, formed like a clam-shell, and about eight inches in diameter; the fuel was seal-oil, and the wick was of moss. It smoked considerably, but Eskimos are smoke-proof. The pot above it, suspended from the roof, was also made of soapstone.
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