Within an hour, Mr. Jingeling, Commander Snowglobe and the rest of the crew had traveled several miles before they stopped, seeing many, many small dots approaching them. The dots grew bigger until they stopped directly in front of the sea faring crew.

“Penguins?” questioned Baff, the beaver.

“Of course,” replied Mr. Jingeling, “this is where they live.

“I’ve never seen this many of them before all together,” stated Jo-Jo. “There must be a hundred of them, a whole herd of Penguins.

“I think they are referred to as a troop.” The Commander offered up the advice to the short snow gopher.

“Penguins are cub scouts?” Jo-Jo was amazed.

“No,” jumped in Tom, the handyman, to the conversation. “That’s just what they call them when they’re in bunches.” Tom turned, smiled and shook his head towards Shaker, the Commander’s nephew as he too chuckled with laughter.

“For the record,” began one of the penguins in front, “you may call us king, for we are all Emperor Penguins.”

“All of you?” Shaker Snowglobe directed his comment to the penguin who spoke.

“Yes, so all of you may begin to bow and scrape and kneel.”

“And if you don’t,” began a second penguin, “we’ll have to call out the guards.”

“How can we do that?” A third penguin questioned the statement. “We have no guards, we’re all Emperor’s.”

“We’ll have to have a vote then,” began the first penguin again. “Somebody has to be below the kings that we are.”

“A vote then,” started one penguin in the back of the troop.

“Yes, a vote,” shouted out another.

Meanwhile, the Commander motioned to all of his friends. “Come on, they’re going to be arguing between themselves all day long. We’ve got a mission to complete.”

With that the crew of Commander Snowglobe and Mr. Jingeling continued walking through the snow.