A MEMORY OF SLEDGE-DOGS 97 



rough pathway among the boulders, and in scarcely 

 the time it takes to tell we had drawn up beside the 

 little hut, and the dogs had lain them down to rest. 



Well, maybe, the dogs had done right in taking 

 us away from our track, for it would seem a pity to 

 pass anyone by in lonely Labrador ; and here on this 

 lonely beach was the chosen dwelling-place of a 

 family of hunters. At the sound of the padding of 

 the dogs and the rumble of the runners on the ice, 

 the family came out to see, and we found ourselves 

 shaking hands with some of our own village folk, 

 and hearing how they were faring at the hunt. But 

 we must go into the little hut ; no Eskimo welcome 

 would be complete without that. So in we went, 

 climbing down the pit-like entrance-way, and shak- 

 ing hands again and being bidden welcome. 



It was a queer little hut. At one time, not many 

 weeks before, it had been a house of snow, built in 

 the proper beehive shape ; but the warmth of the 

 stove inside had melted some of it, and the sun had 

 softened the outside of it, until the roof was gone 

 and nothing but the wall was left. So there it stood, 

 like a mixture of summer and winter, a broken-down 

 snow house with a sail for a roof. There was no 

 need to spend much time inside ; indeed, there was 

 not room for all of us. But why stay in the house 

 in the daytime, when the sun shines bright and the 

 wind is not too cold ? And, besides, the kettle will 

 boil just as well out of doors as in. 



So out we went again, out from the gloomxy little 

 hut, with its queer canvas roof, to the glorious vision 

 of frozen sea and snow-covered mountains. The 



