11 NOSES ! 73 



fit godparents for their own children, a man is 

 thought ill of if he will not 'stand up to' his 

 child at the font; the implication being that he 

 does not believe the child his. So, without opposi- 

 tion. Semaphore was christened Grace Kathleen, 

 or something of the sort. But Semaphore is her 

 proper name. When, after a night at sea or 

 mackerel hooking at peep o' day, I 'go up over' 

 in the afternoon to 'put away an hour,' then am 

 I kept awake by shouts of 'Semifore! Semifore! 

 Dirty bundle!' (A term of endearment here- 

 about.) 'Woo-ah-h-h ! Woo-ah-h-h-h ! Kiss 

 me then. Semi-fooore!' How can one be very 

 bad tempered at that? It is the name of Sema- 

 phore which makes her partly mine. 



She has another link with the Eskimos. I 

 don't know why one wants to kiss babies. One 

 does. I did; but, being a bachelor, failed to 

 attain to the full deed. Semaphore and I touched 

 noses merely. She was delighted. I remembered 

 that in a book I read when I was a little boy 

 the Eskimos were said to greet one another by 

 rubbing noses. 'Noses, Semaphore ! Noses !' 

 She understood; and now when we kneel before 

 her while she is squat on her mother's lap, she 

 smiles suddenly, as if she had recollected a 



