CHAPTER XIII 



A MEMORY OF SLEDGE-DOGS 



I WONDER is there a place in all the world where 

 you may see more dogs gathered together than in 

 an Eskimo village 1 Go where you will among the 

 huts, you find dogs. They sleep in the porchways 

 of the huts ; they wander aimlessly about ; they slink 

 out of your way as you come along the path ; they 

 snarl at you from a distance. They wrangle in great 

 multitudes over scraps of food flung from doorways ; 

 they are everywhere. It is a poor house that has 

 only two or three dogs ; most men seem to like a 

 team of from seven to fifteen. Why, even old Hen- 

 rietta has one dog, and you may see that black and 

 woolly fellow hauling home a bundle of sticks, and 

 helped manfully by young Benjie the grandson. 



So ours is a village of dogs, and you must learn 

 to walk warily, for, when not on duty with the 

 sledge, dogs sleep outside the door, all powdered 

 and frosted with snow, and ready to snap hastily at 

 the visitor who chances to break their slumbers. As 

 for the puppies, the air is filled with their shrill whin- 

 ings as they learn at the hands of some not-too- 

 gentle urchin to drag a toy sledge or a lump of 

 frozen snow. Doggy families nestle in corners of 

 huts. You may only know of their presence by the 

 quiet whimper of hungry little things, and the rustle 

 of straw as the mother gathers her brood to her. 



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