CHAPTER XI 



AN ESKIMO BROTHER 



If you were to go into an Eskimo hut in the summer 

 time you would see strips or slabs of black, leathery- 

 looking dried meat lying in a corner or hanging from 

 the roof. 



I am bound to introduce the dried meat to your 

 notice because this little story bears upon the sub- 

 ject ; indeed, I might have called my chapter "A 

 Piece of Dried Meat" if I had not thought such 

 a title would suggest dry reading. 



Nevertheless, the dried meat nipko, the Eskimos 

 call it is the important thing in the story, and so, 

 by way of a beginning, I must say something about 

 the making of it. 



When an Eskimo kills a seal or a deer, he sets 

 to work, all unwittingly, to give a fine illustration of 

 the proverb " Waste not, want not," The meat, of 

 course, is the nicest thing he knows for breakfast 

 and dinner and supper ; the skin becomes clothing 

 or boots or bedding ; the sinews make thread for 

 sewing ; the bowel can be split and stitched for 

 window-panes ; even the bones have their use, for 

 a shoulder-bone makes a handy scraper for skins ; 

 and, after all this, whatever is left can be used as 

 food for the dogs. So, you see, a seal or a deer is 

 a very fine thing to have, and an Eskimo feels well 

 repaid for his long, cold wait at the edge of the ice, 

 or his toilsome trail up the valleys of the mainland, if 



76 



