I04 AN ESKIMO VILLAGE 



I climbed the slope of the river bank and looked 

 down into the pass. There in the hollow stood the 

 snow house, all lined with light where the candle 

 shone through the crevices in the wall, and the night 

 air was filled with the music of the singing. 



And so I look back on one of the most wonderful 

 memories of life in Labrador : the snow house on 

 the mountain pass, with its little gathering of fur- 

 clad Eskimos singing praise to God in their own 

 tongue ; and that strange and frozen place, which 

 knew no other sound but the howling of the wind and 

 the cry of the hungry wolf, echoing with the name 

 of Christ the Lord. 



