It was a new and even a dangerous
feeling; for though he made young Chilblain's impertinence the pretext
of an outburst, he might just as readily have given a cuff to the
hoary-headed Prime-minister, Sir Solomon Snow-Ball--and then there would
have been a revolution. But happily for the peace of the Polar Sea
palace, B.B. was satisfied with Chilblain's howl of rage, and in another
moment had sunk down into his favorite arm-chair of twisted walrus
tusks, and was lost in thought.
It was a curious scene, these three old men half asleep in their
bear-skins, smoking long pipes of smouldering sea-weed. No fire danced
on the hearth, no lamp shed its lustre, but the moon's pale beams
gleamed on the glittering walls and lit the ice-crystals with its silver
rays. B.B.'s thoughts seemed to be of a troublesome nature, for he
sighed heavily, almost creating a whirlwind, and at last, looking
cautiously at his companions, and seeing they were asleep, he rose and
went softly from the room. In the hall was a huge pile of furs, among
which B.B. gently pushed until he found the object of his search, which,
lifting carefully, he bound about him with thongs of reindeer hide. Then
pulling on his immense snow-shoes, and drawing his cap closely about
his ears, he went out into the night.
B.B. was aware that it would be impossible for him to keep his little
Flax-Flower any longer in Frozen Nose's dominions; indeed, he had only
hidden her in the hall until he could decide what course to pursue, for
he knew only too well that Chilblain, in seeking revenge, would be sure
to discover his secret, and do all he could to injure him.
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