86 AN ESKIMO VILLAGE 



In winter the boys have a way of sliding down the 

 hills and snowdrifts on wooden runners something 

 like very short skis. Korni was always at the 

 steepest and roughest places, taking the most appal- 

 ling turns and leaps at a breakneck speed. 



In the spring you might see the boys paddling 

 about in the sea on broken pieces of ice. Korni' s 

 piece was usually under water, being too small to 

 bear his weight in a reasonable way, and as often as 

 not he would be standing on it, keeping a precarious 

 balance by prodding at the water with a broken oar. 

 And as for the summer time, I warrant your heart 

 would stand still if you could see Kornelius in a boat 

 alone in a boat, I mean, for he can be very sub- 

 dued and quiet when his uncle is about. He delights 

 to borrow some tiny skiff, with or without the 

 owner's permission, and to hoist an amateur mast 

 and sail. Then he will fare forth on some gusty 

 afternoon for the sheer joy of beating back against 

 the wind. 



You watch him as a squall strikes him. "He's 

 over," you say, and look wildly around for a rescuer. 

 But no, with a pull or a twist he rights the boat 

 the more it heels over the more delighted he is 

 and home he comes with beaming face twinkling 

 with pride as his last long tack sends the boat sweep- 

 ing alongside the steps at the end of the jetty. 



Korni 's life was full of escapades. He had the 

 knack of turning the most ordinary errands into 

 adventures. The mere fetching of a bucket of 

 water would lead him into a splashing contest with 

 half the children of the village, so that his aunt had 



