78 AN ESKIMO VILLAGE 



Such is nipko, the real Eskimo dainty, dried with- 

 out salt. It needs no cooking, and I know that it is 

 a very sustaining food. And such is the nipko that 

 figures in our story. It lies in a corner or hangs from 

 the rafters, and there you might see it if you went 

 into a hut. I cannot tell you the taste of it ; I only 

 know that it is nearly as tough and hard as boot 

 leather. I tried to eat some once ; I cut a piece for 

 myself, and chawed and gnawed, but the nipko got 

 the better of me. It was still hard and tough when 

 my teeth were sore, and I had not yet discovered 

 the taste of it. The Eskimos laughed at me, and 

 well they might, for their teeth are made for chew- 

 ing tough things. "Splendid nipko, this," they 

 said, and bit new pieces for themselves. 



Now, for the purpose of our story, I have intro- 

 duced you to the dried meat, let us turn to the 

 people concerned. They are the old Eskimo couple, 

 Kornelius and Maria, whom you met in the last 

 chapter. 



The manner of their wedding was rather comical. 

 This is the way it came about. Kornelius was a 

 widower ; he was an old man, living alone in a tiny 

 hut ; he wanted a wife for company and to see to 

 all those little duties that fall within the province of 

 an Eskimo wife drying the meat, sewing the boots, 

 cleaning the house, mending the clothes in fact, the 

 old man wanted a wife to look after him. 



There were quite a number of widows in our 

 village at the time, and Kornelius proposed to them 

 all in turn. 



They all said no. 



