Il6 AN ESKIMO VILLAGE 



that muddy and snowy boots might not spoil the 

 boards. I have seen her on a snowy morning clear- 

 ing the flakes from the window-panes with a raven's 

 wing tied to the end of a stick. She was a useful 

 soul in her day, was Juliana. And now she was 

 blind blind and old. 



Blind though she was, where going to church 

 was concerned weather seemed to make no difference 

 to her. In snowstorms and rainstorms, and on bright 

 and sunny days alike, Juliana was in her usual place, 

 with her sightless eyes turned towards the mis- 

 sionary at his reading desk, and a smile of content- 

 ment and peace upon her placid face. 



I wondered sometimes how she came there, for 

 well I knew the slippery path and the narrovv^ bridge 

 that led to the village ; well I knew it for the tumbles 

 I had had. I asked Juliana about it. 



" How do you manage to get to church ?" said I. 



"Father leads me," said blind Juliana. 



"Father.-*" I asked; for I knew that Juliana's 

 father had died in the big sickness of 1904. 



"Yes," she said, "little father little Abia, the 

 namesake of my father. I call him ' father,' for such 

 is the custom of the people, and he is the son of my 

 brother and my father's namesake. He it is who 

 comes each Sunday and leads me so that I do not 

 stumble and fall ; and I am thankful, for without 

 him I could not venture." 



So that was the explanation. And, as a matter 

 of fact, a few Sundays later I caught a glimpse of 

 blind Juliana on her way to church. The bell had 

 not yet begun to ring, but Juliana always liked to 



