HENRIETTA'S VISIT 141 



from her grey old head and flapped the powdery 

 snow out of its folds ; she smoothed her hair and put 

 the handkerchief carefully in place again ; then she 

 came blinking into the lamplight, 



A queer little figure, this. 



A very short, broad-shouldered woman, bent and 

 wrinkled with age, with a pair of twinkling little eyes 

 peering this way and that, and her wisp of grey hair 

 tied at the back with the white ribbon that showed 

 she was a widow. This was Henrietta, leading hand 

 foreman, I might almost say in the blubber yard, 

 skilled in the nauseous task of hammering the oil 

 from the chopped-up fat ; and ready, when blubber 

 work was lacking, to turn her hand to anything 

 useful, and mend your boots and stack your fire- 

 wood, or scrape the snow from your steps and 

 windows, or fetch water, or ice, maybe, for your 

 kitchen tank, or even, in the summer-time, to water 

 your garden on a dry evening and carry seaweed 

 from the shore for the better cultivation of your 

 turnip patch. This was Henrietta. 



I led her into the full glare of the lamplight ; and 

 there, in the warmth of my room, she sat herself 

 down on the little green bench by the door. Then 

 came a pause. It was something new for Henrietta 

 to come to my room at all ; I could not remember 

 seeing her there before, though I had seen her many 

 times out of doors, as she passed to and fro in the 

 sackcloth overalls that she wore for her work. 



And Henrietta was finding her visit somewhat 

 new ; she sat peering about the room, fixing her 

 gaze first on one thing and then on another, probably 



