144 AN ESKIMO VILLAGE 



hurled himself from the midst of his chat and the 

 enjoyment of his pipe into the vortex, and the peace 

 of the winter scene has been made a nightmare of 

 shouts and howlings and lashing of whips. 



And I have still a vision in my mind of the troubled 

 face of a squat little Eskimo woman the village 

 bootmaker as she came one evening to say : 

 "What trouble, what trouble; your boots, your 

 Sunday boots, the boots with the white soles. Ai, 

 ai, but I had made them fine, and scraped them very 

 white, and hung them on a pole outside the door to 

 make them whiter with the cold, and, behold, the 

 dogs have eaten them." 



But all this is by the way ; things made of skin 

 may be all very well as food for hungry dogs, but 

 here was old Henrietta sitting on the little green 

 bench by the door, telling me with rueful face how 

 the dogs eh, those bad dogs ! had eaten Ernes- 

 tina's clothes clothes newly washed and hung on 

 the poles to bleach, and asking me what she should 

 do! 



