105 Arctic adventures the search continued 



air waves. One Sabbath, as was his way, the Catholic father left 

 his flock in charge of one of the brothers and, hitching up his 

 dogs, mushed out across the thick river ice to visit those of his 

 flock who were established in trapping camps in the hinterland. 

 Imagine his chagrin when, on arriving at the first camp, he found 

 everyone harking intently to the enterprising voice of his Angli- 

 can rival! In the next camp it was the same, and in the next. The 

 magic of the radio, out there in the Arctic wilderness, was such a 

 rare and absorbing delight that the enraptured natives scarcely 

 gave the poor father-in-the-flesh a passing glance. In great haste 

 he backtracked to the settlement, and thereafter his voice like- 

 wise broke upon the Sabbath stillness, within the confines of his 

 allotted time, of course, which was the hour that followed the 

 Anglican service. Courtesy of the Canadian Army. 



The mission schools were still in session, and one of the teach- 

 ers at the Anglican School asked me to give a bird talk to the chil- 

 dren. There were 112 youngsters, Eskimos and Loucheux Indians, 

 ranging in age from six to sixteen, and they were assembled in one 

 of the classrooms under the practiced supervision of Miss Law 

 and Miss Harrington. They had already heard about our search for 

 the lost nesting grounds of the whooping crane and were quite ex- 

 cited about it. There were a lot of bird pictures on the walls and 

 several childish drawings of birds on the blackboard, including 

 two or three free representations of whooping cranes. I learned 

 that Mary Harrington, a highly capable artist, had particularly en- 

 couraged these efforts. Without benefit of slides or other illustra- 

 tions, which were quite unnecessary after all this advance billing, 

 I talked about the cranes, the mystery of their nesting place, and 

 the reasons for our search. In the plump and handsome faces be- 

 fore me there was an almost electric attention. This was some- 

 thing they could understand, and I could feel the eagerness with 

 which they drank in every word, and see the quickness of their 

 imaginations in the dark slant of their bright little eyes. When I 

 asked for questions at the end of the talk half the hands were in 

 the air at once. They wanted to know a hundred things about the 

 crane and its habits. They were especially interested in hearing 

 about the Texas coast, more than 3,000 miles away to the south, 



