CHAPTER IX 



THE STORY OF AN OIL-STAINED BIBLE 



It may seem a strange thing to say, but it is true, 

 that the bleak and bare coast of Labrador has spots 

 of unsurpassed beauty. Labrador is a desolate land ; 

 it boasts but little green ; its sombre rocks are 

 brightened only by the tawny moss and lichen and 

 the silver threads of numberless water-courses ; and 

 yet its gaunt rocks, its lofty cliffs, its magnificent 

 ranges of jagged peaks, have a grandeur and a 

 beauty all their own. Perhaps the most unforget- 

 table sight that I have ever seen is the light of the 

 sunrise on the dented summit of the Kiglapeit range ; 

 the silence of the early morning and the loneliness of 

 the wide and frozen sea make the vision of that saw- 

 tooth row of peaks, brightly pink against the dark 

 blue sky, capped and patched with snow, and seared 

 with lines of black where the rock is too steep for 

 the snow to cling, a picture of bleak nature that only 

 the strange land of Labrador can show. 



But I have in mind a summer scene : the mighty 

 head of Cape Mugford, with the shining snowy tops 

 of the Kaumajat range stretching twenty miles 

 towards the west a scene in which mere rocks and 

 water and sea and sunshine combine to make a 

 picture of outstanding beauty and grandeur. 



My Eskimo neighbours were less concerned with 



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