MYOLDBOAT 69 



on stones away from the damp ground, and piled 

 round with sods of earth to keep the wind out. 

 They were rough Eskimo hunters and fishermen, 

 used to raw food and rough weather, but I knew 

 them as friends. Yes, in the solitudes of the snow- 

 covered mountains, in the desolation of the wide sea 

 ice, on sledges by winter and in boats by summer, 

 in the homes of the people, in tents and huts and 

 houses built of snow, I have known the kindness of 

 the Eskimo. And it was with a strange feeling of 

 happiness that I watched the little group cross the 

 foreshore and gather round the ruins of my boat. 

 They were talking, for I could see them point and 

 nod their heads ; and I smiled to myself as I thought 

 how Eskimos would interest themselves in trifling 

 things on days when the weather forbids them to 

 hunt. For half an hour or more they argued over 

 my old boat, and then they made their way gravely 

 back to their homes. All but one. One old man 

 stayed to take a further look. He tapped the timbers 

 with his fist ; he stooped and peered ; he stepped 

 back a pace and studied ; he walked around the boat 

 and stooped to peer again, and then came trudging 

 up the beach. As he came nearer I knew him for 

 old Kornelius, who lived with his wife in a little 

 hut up the hill. I thought that he was making his 

 way home ; but no, he left the path and crossed the 

 bridge towards the hospital. I heard his slow foot- 

 steps climbing to the porch ; the door creaked, and 

 in he came. No need for him to knock and wait ; 

 that is not the way in Labrador. The old man 

 followed the hospitable Eskimo custom ; he gently 



