And I believe--I believe--I know what it means!" He stood up again, and Peter saw the old smile on his master's lips as Jolly Roger looked up into the swirling black canopy of the spruce-tops.
And the wailing of the storm seemed no longer to hold menace and taunt, but in it he heard the whisper of fierce, strong voices urging upon him the conviction that had already swept indecision from his heart.
And then he said, holding out his arms as if encompassing something which he could not see.
"Peter, we're going back to Nada!" Dawn was a scarcely perceptible thing when it came.

Darkness seemed to fade a little, that was all.

Frosty shapes took form in the gloom, and the spruce-tops became tangible in an abyss of sepulchral shadow overhead.
Through this beginning of the barren-land day Jolly Roger set out in the direction of his cabin and in his blood was that new singing thing of fire and warmth that more than made up for the hours of sleep he had lost during the night.

The storm was dying out, he thought, and it was growing warmer; yet the wind whistled and raved in the open spaces and his thermometer registered the fortieth and a fraction degree below zero.

The air he breathed was softer, he fancied, yet it was still heavy with the stinging shot of blizzard; and where yesterday he had seen only the smothering chaos of twisted spruce and piled up snow, there was now--as the pale day broadened--his old wonderland of savage beauty, awaiting only a flash of sunlight to transform it into the pure glory of a thing indescribable.