TWO DIANAS IN ALASKA 183 



imaginings. A haunted homestead. Haunted by 

 the ghosts of the Past, Regret, and Memory. 



We tip-toed across the marshy quagmire interven- 

 ing, and peered inquisitively round the creaking door. 

 In the cavern-like fireplace a dead log, charred and 

 dull, gave the whole room the sad, forlorn aspect 

 chill embers always bring. We ranged right inside, 

 and through the bare room we caught a glimpse of a 

 little lean-to, and surely a figure prone on the cold 

 earth floor. This was exploring indeed. We called 

 out to ask if we, who were already in, might enter. 

 No reply. 



A squat, untidy figure lay before us, all of a heap, 

 and a hood of a parka, made from loon skins, con- 

 cealed the face. Cecily drew the folds back and 

 with a gasp, which changed to a little cry as she 

 saw us, an Innuit woman looked up at us. Old she 

 was in grief, but not, I think, in years. It is very 

 hard to guess accurately the age of native women, 

 but we judged this one to be about twenty-four. 

 There was nothing romantic about her, for an Innuit 

 lacks royal grace and dignity of carriage, but there 

 was that in her face which told of the sadness of the 

 ages, and her eyes were wells of unshed tears. She 

 rose to her feet in a sort of maze, and we stood, an 

 extraordinary trio, looking inquiringly at each other. 



The Innuit woman spoke to us wonderingly, ques- 

 tioningly, with eyes yearning. We could neither 

 understand nor offer any comfort. 



By signs she made it clear to us that she no longer 

 lived in this small shack, she lived somewhere " over 



