A LABRADOR SPRING 



eagerly acquiesced, having visions of broiled 

 crabs, but there appeared on the table large 

 pan-cakes much soaked in fat, crepes, a favour- 

 ite dish along the coast, and one we found 

 stood us in good stead on an all day tramp. 

 There was, however, no crape, as my friend 

 suggested there might be, on the door next day. 



Natashquan is a rambling village on both 

 sides of the mouth of the Little Natashquan 

 River. On the right bank was a small group 

 of houses including the trading post, which 

 went under the name of the Labrador Fur 

 Company, and as the wife of the trader had 

 just entertained eight Indians at dinner she 

 was much wearied, yet on learning that we 

 came from the States and talked English, 

 she herself came from Chicago, she and her 

 husband made us at home, and gave us with 

 the aid of a piano and her pleasant voice a 

 musical evening. 



Another building on the right bank was the 

 house of the telegraph operator, he of the 

 wig and a face devoid of eyebrows, lashes and 

 beard. The trader told us that some years 

 ago this man and another strongly opposed the 

 appointment of a certain schoolmaster by the 



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