TENT LIFE 



when the wind is strong ; but kujanna (never mind), 

 what does it matter ? we can soon crawl out and 

 set it on its poles again and it is all right. The 

 stones do not blow away ; they stay there all the 

 time. When the winter comes, and we find snow to 

 build snow houses, we leave the stones lying till we 

 can come again in the spring. I always put my 

 tent in the same place, for it is a good place. That 

 big rock shelters us from the north-west wind, and 

 we can drink from that stream of water near by ; 

 besides, we are close to the sea, and I can soon launch 

 my skin canoe and go hunting the seals. Yes, it is 

 a good place, and I shall come again next year. 

 Some of the people do not find good places ; they go 

 to fresh places each year ; but my place is good." 



His face was aglow again and I caught some of 

 his emotion; I felt the glamour of his simple life. 

 I thought of the many times when I have come 

 across the rings of stones, relics of deserted tenting- 

 places. They are generally in some grassy nook 

 near the seashore. The rank grass grows over and 

 among them, and the sandy space which they surround 

 is strewn with fishbones and shells and all the other 

 litter of Eskimo tent life. There is an air of desola- 

 tion about these rings of stones. Their owners have 

 sought better places for their tents ; they have had 

 no fortune at the fishing and have gone to try 

 elsewhere ; perhaps they have passed away and are 

 forgotten. 



Bob stood for a moment deep in thought and 

 gently smiling. He was dreaming of bygone 

 tenting times ; he was seeing visions of rare hauls of 

 seals and fish for the future ; but his restless eyes 



lit on his tent again and he trotted on. 



30 



