MY BOX 



a queer letter scrawled in pencil on a big sheet of 

 foolscap. The spelling is weird in places, because he 

 puts things as they sound to his Eskimo ears. 

 " Immale," he writes. " Oh that we were travelling 

 again." 



Julius was my head driver and looked after the 

 sledge. Johannes looked after everything else. I 

 cannot enumerate his duties ; he was on the look-out 

 for them all day long, and did them as they 

 cropped up. Amongst other things he elected 

 himself my " nurse." That is to say, he was always 

 on the look-out to make himself useful in some little 

 personal way. Suppose that one of my boot-strings 

 came undone. " No, no," says Johannes, " uvangale 

 let me do it keep your gloves on ; you have 

 English hands ; they will freeze. I have Eskimo 

 hands." And on the long, weary hours of the dark 

 evenings, when the dogs toiled slowly on and the 

 wind nipped painfully, little Johannes was always 

 near, trotting from one side to the other, racing 

 forward to disentangle an unlucky dog and coming 

 back to ask " Are you cold ? See that rock ? Two 

 hours to Nain. Ananak (splendid), ai ? " 



On one of those runs through threatening weather 

 I overheard a little conversation between the drivers. 

 We were climbing a pass. The two men were 

 walking beside the nose of the sledge, guiding it 

 between the rocks, while I followed behind. 



" It is heavy up here," said one ; " I wish we could 



faster." 



" Ai-ai," said the other. " I wish the doctor's box 

 uld get off and walk." 



" Unet," was the answer ; " that box is medicine 

 for the sick folks ; we are helping them." 



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