THE HEATHEN VILLAGE 19 



out the choicest bits, for this awesome being must 

 be fed and pampered and woe betide the unhappy 

 hunter who did not treat him well. The feasting 

 over, the people sit around in the dim and smoking 

 light of a seal-oil lamp, talking in undertones. The 

 sorcerer speaks ; a silence falls. 



The little children shudder ; they sob and whimper 

 in their terror, until their mother smacks them into 

 quietness. 



Perhaps a wind is rising, a storm is brewing. The 

 sorcerer thumps his seal-hide drum and begins to 

 chant in a nasal voice. Maybe he has a grudge 

 against some unhappy fellow. He points to him with 

 a grimy finger and chants and points again. 



"There is the fellow," he sings, "who is mak- 

 ing the storm. He forgot to give me meat when he 

 caught a seal, and the Spirit of the Storm is angry. 

 There will be bad weather, bad weather ; no more 

 seals for many days. You will be hungry hungry 

 hungry ' ' and he thumps his drum and howls 

 aloud, and at the pointing finger the unlucky man 

 accused betakes himself slinkingly into the night. 

 The little children whine and shiver, the strong 

 hunters tremble, and with a final scowl at the com- 

 pany in general the sorcerer gathers up his bones 

 and his drum and stalks majestically away to his 

 own abode. 



There were dismal doings in that heathen village. 

 True, there was a rude hospitality ; the hungry were 

 fed. Any who had not might freely eat with those 

 who had, but beyond this there was little that 

 savoured of love or kindliness. 



