HOME 153 



"No, no," he said, and laughed; "no, no, I 

 have not moved. I still live up there "--and he 

 waved his hand towards the slope of the hill. 



' ' Then why ' ' said I . 



He looked at me. " Well," he said, and pointed 

 to the tumbledown hut half covered in snow, ' ' Old 

 Henrietta lives in this hut and old Henrietta is a 

 widow." And he fell to his chopping again. 



But to come back to the tourists and the mail 

 boat. 



Our village is a pretty place, but whether the day 

 be bright or dull, in sun and rain and snow and 

 sleet alike, the Eskimos love their village ; they love 

 their barren frozen land. However pretty the vil- 

 lage may look to the eyes of a traveller, the fact 

 remains ; there are no crops, no flocks in Labrador. 

 But never mind ; Labrador is the home of the 

 Eskimos, and seems to be their chosen land. 



I was watching the mail steamer get up her 

 anchor, after one of her rare visits. The tourists 

 had gone, the gangway steps were hoisted up, and 

 there was a clanging of bells as the ship slowly 

 turned her nose to the open. 



But a little knot of folk still stood upon the jetty ; 

 and I saw people go carrying things. A man walked 

 after the rest, and turned along the path towards 

 me. He wore a blue suit, a straw hat, a collar and 

 tie ; and yet, as he came towards me there was 

 something about the build of his figure, something 

 in the lithe carriage and the square face, that made 

 me say to myself : ' ' This is an Eskimo ; in spite of 

 his clothes he is one of the People." 



