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He struck one with his whale harpoon, which had a long line 

 attached. He tied the end around his mother's waist; as the 

 whale swam out to sea, it dragged her down the beach and into 

 the water. As she went, she kept crying, iynialuma, "My 

 son did it." When the whale went down, she would go down 

 too, and when it came up, she would come up too, crying, 

 iynialuma, "My son did it," over and over again. Finally 

 she disappeared. 



She still lives with the white whales, and in the spring, 

 when they are going along the shore, the people can hear her 

 crying, luma, luma, iynialuma, and say that she is still alive 

 among them. 1 



THE ORPHAN BOY AND THE MOON MAN. 



Near Okkak there is a rock, curiously marked with what the 

 Eskimo say are the blood and brains of the people in the following 

 story. 



A long time ago there lived in a village near Okkak a poor 

 orphan boy. He had no relatives and the people he lived with 

 treated him very badly. They made him sleep in the entrance 

 tunnel with the dogs and flung him only bones to pick. They 

 would not give him a knife, but the little daughter of the house 

 gave him one secretly, and carried him bits of food when she 

 could do so. Her kindness pleased him very much, and made 

 him long to escape and improve his hard condition in life. 



One night he was lying on the ground, outside the passage- 

 way, trying to think of a plan for escape, and gazing at the moon. 

 The more he gazed at it, the more he thought he discerned the 

 outlines of the face of a man in it. Finally he was sure it was 

 a man, and cried out to him to come down and help him escape 

 from his hard life. 



The man in the moon heard him, and came down. He 

 took the little orphan boy down to the beach and beat him with 

 a big whip. Every time he struck him he grew bigger and 

 stronger. When he had finished, the little orphan boy was 



1 This story is also told in Baffin island in more detail. Dr. Boas informs me that in the 

 Baffin Island version, the mother cries uluga, my ulu, my ulu; the consequent remorse of the 

 son does not figure in the Labrador version. 



