282 THE ARCTIC PRAIRIES 



natural death; she put a shawl on her head and 

 stepped toward the door without looking at me. Rob 

 nodded to me, and signed to go to the Hudson's Bay 

 store; by which I inferred that the case was won; 

 we were going now to select the present. To my 

 amazement she turned from all the bright-coloured 

 goods and selected a large black silk handkerchief. 



The men tell me it is always so now; fifty years ago 

 every woman wanted red things. Now all want black ; 

 and the traders who made the mistake of importing 

 red have had to import dyes and dip them all. 



Jiarobia, or, as we mostly call him, "Rob," proved a 

 most amusing character as well as a "good man" and 

 the reader will please note that nearly all of my single 

 help were "good men." Only when I had a crowd 

 was there trouble. His store of anecdote was un- 

 bounded and his sense of humour ever present, if 

 broad and simple. He talked in English, French, and 

 Cree, and knew a good deal of Chipewyan. Many of 

 his personal adventures would have fitted admirably 

 into the Decameron, but are scarcely suited for this 

 narrative. One evening he began to sing, I listened 

 intently, thinking maybe I should pick up some an- 

 cient chanson of the voyageurs or at least a wood- 

 man's "Come-all-ye." Alas! it proved to be nothing 

 but the "Whistling Coon." 



Which reminds me of another curious experience 

 at the village of Fort Smith. I saw a crowd of the In- 

 dians about a lodge and strange noises proceeding 

 therefrom. When I went over the folk made way for 

 me. I entered, sat down, and found that they were 



