JULIANA'S HOUSE 137 



was dark. In spite of the sunny morning the place 

 was dull and gloomy, because the window is only 

 small, and what window there is is not of glass, but 

 made of a membrane sewn from seal's bowel, a 

 queer and creaky substitute that flaps to and fro 

 with the wind, letting in a little light but no real 

 sunshine. I made my way across the floor towards 

 the crackling stove and towards the sound of the 

 reading. It was Juliana's voice that I heard. But 

 reading, no. It was blind Juliana's voice, saying 

 first one and then another well-known piece of 

 scripture snatches from the Psalms, bits from the 

 Gospels and the Revelation, all the familiar verses, 

 easy for me to know although said in the long, 

 strange words of the Eskimo tongue. And Juliana 

 was saying them over, rolling them on her tongue, 

 verily tasting them, it seemed to me ; and I could 

 not help thinking of the old phrase which tells us 

 that His words are as honey to our taste and sweet 

 in our mouths, for so it was with Juliana. 



"No," said Juliana, " I can no longer read ; I 

 am blind ; but I like to say over the verses I learnt 

 at school and in the church, and Ernestina likes 

 it too." 



" So Ernestina is here," said I. "I had though? 

 to go and visit her, but here she is. Aksunai, 

 Ernestina." 



"Yes," said Juliana, "poor Ernestina is often 

 here. When her grandmother Henrietta goes to 

 her work in the blubber yard she leads Ernestina to 

 my house and leaves her here to help me." 



' ' To help you ! ' * said I ; and I looked at the pot 



