140 AN ESKIMO VILLAGE 



ing open the door with a jerk, and stamping their 

 feet in the porch to clear the snow from their boots. 

 It would not do, you see, to tramp the passage and 

 the floor of one's living-room with boots all caked 

 with snow. And so on that frosty January night I 

 had every reason to expect a noisy opening of the 

 door with a stamping of feet to follow. But nothing 

 happened ; and yet I was quite sure of the creaking 

 of the steps. 



I opened the door of the room and peered into the 

 passage. The passage was empty, and very cold. I 

 pursued the matter further, and went into the porch. 

 There was nothing in the porch but a very biting 

 draught, and a powdering of snow that had drifted 

 through the various crevices. The porch is always a 

 cold place, and it was with a shiver that I turned the 

 icy handle and pulled open the outer door. A draught 

 of freezing night air was wafted in, chilling my ankles 

 and nearly taking my breath away. 



And then, at last, I found what I sought ; my 

 frozen pilgrimage to the door had not been in vain ; 

 my ears had not played me false ; there was someone 

 on the steps. 



There, meekly waiting for the opening of the door, 

 too shy to turn the handle for herself or even to 

 knock, stood Henrietta. " Aksunai, Henrietta," 

 said I. " Itterille " (Come in) ; and Henrietta came 

 in. I thankfully closed the door and shut out the 

 biting wind ; then I retreated to the passage and left 

 Henrietta the freedom of the porch. She stamped 

 her feet, and slapped her skirt, and waved the hood 

 of her smock ; she took the bandanna handkerchief 



