MARTIN'S FIRST SEAL 



than an old Eskimo custom steps in and says it must 

 be so. 



Every one who sees the capture must have a 

 share. 



The lucky hunter skins his huge catch, and chops 

 it into chunks, and hands the pieces round. Even 

 the interested visitor there on a pleasure trip gets a 

 great piece thrust upon him. 



As for myself, I drew the line at walrus. The 

 flesh is rank and coarse, and even the liver is tough ; 

 and though I have tried to eat the boiled skin which 

 the Eskimos find so tasty, I preferred to leave it to 

 them it seemed more natural to let them eat what 

 they could, and make the rest into whips and sledge 

 drags, than to loosen my teeth over its exceeding 

 toughness. 



Shortly after my visit to the sina I saw a boy 

 walking along the village path, carrying what looked 

 like a big and slimy slug. 



Whatever horrible thing had the lad got? He 

 carried it by the middle, and it dangled quivering on 

 each side of his hand. He had an air of importance 

 with him, and every one he met stopped to say a 

 word and to have a look at his loathsome handful. 



Behind him marched his father and mother, both 

 looking very proud. 



"Hai, Martin," I shouted, "what have you 

 got?" 



"Kissek" (sealskin), he said, and came trotting 

 along to unroll his package on the snow, and display 

 a fresh sealskin well scraped and washed and sodden 

 with brine. " My first seal," he said, grinning shyly. 

 Ikpeksak anguvara" (I caught it yesterday). 



He seemed in a hurry to be off, so I let him go 



