The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 5.
John Greenleaf Whittier, Ed.

[246] and poor little Lucille would n't hear a word of his going. She said he would be sick and die on board the vessel, but that if he stayed with them he would soon be well and strong; that they should have plenty of milk and eggs for him in the winter; and he should ride in the dog-sledge with her, and she would take care of him as if he was her brother. She hid his cap and great-coat; and what with crying, and scolding, and coaxing, she fairly carried her point.

“You see I'm a prisoner,” says he; “they won't let me go.”

“Well,” says I, “you don't seem to be troubled about it. I tell you what, young man,” says I, “it's mighty pretty now to stroll round here, and pick mosses, and hunt birds' eggs with that gal; but wait till November comes, and everything freezes up stiff and dead except white bears and Ingens, and there's no daylight left to speak of, and you'll be sick enough of your choice. You won't live the winter out; and it's an awful place to die in, where the ground freezes so hard that they can't bury you.”

“Lucille says,” says he, “ that God is as near us in the winter as in the summer. The fact is, Skipper, I've no nearer relative left in the States than a married brother, who thinks more of his family and business than of me; and if it is God's will that I shall die, I may as well wait His call here as anywhere. I have found kind friends here; they will do all they can for me; and for the rest I trust Providence.”

Lucille begged that I would let him stay; for