TENT LIFE 



platform of moss and earth spread with skins. The 

 mother was sitting on the edge of the bed, kneading 

 one of her husband's boots. She looked up as we 

 appeared, with a good-humoured smile on her hand- 

 some ruddy face, and quietly went on with her 

 kneading. 



Other boots, turned inside out to dry, hung from 

 the poles above her head ; they were waiting to be 

 rubbed. This is one of the things that an Eskimo 

 expects of his wife ; she must keep his boots soft : 

 and you can well imagine the hunter coming in 

 tired from his latest expedition, sprawling with loud 

 snores upon the platform bed, while his wife takes 

 his boots and turns them inside out to dry, and 

 patiently rubs them supple, ready for his next excur- 

 sion. Eskimo hunters take a pride in their boots. 



Bob's wife reached for another boot, and went 

 on with her kneading. 



Close beside her, on an upturned tub, stood the 

 seal-oil lamp. It was no more than a half-moon- 

 shaped trough, hollowed from a soft stone, and half 

 filled with thick brown seal-oil. A flat wick of moss 

 leaned on the edge of the trough, dipping into the 

 oil, and burning with a steady white flame. 



Mrs. Bob seemed to be doing a little cookery 

 over her primitive lamp. A battered meat-tin, a 

 castaway, no doubt, from the Mission ship, hung by 

 a string from one of the tent-poles, and twisted, 

 bubbling merrily, over the flame. From time to 

 time she picked up a spike of bone which lay beside 

 her, and poked the wick. This seemed to be all 

 the attention the lamp needed. On the floor I saw 

 a pot of seal's blubber, from which the oil was 



oozing. From this she could easily fill the lamp 



32 



