A LABRADOR SPRING 
eagerly acquiesced, having visions of broiled 
crabs, but there appeared on the table large 
pan-cakes much soaked in fat, crépes, a favour- 
ite dish along the coast, and one we found 
stood us in good stead on an all day tramp. 
There was, however, no crape, as my friend 
suggested there might be, on the door next day. 
Natashquan is a rambling village on both 
‘sides of the mouth of the Little Natashquan 
River. On the right bank was a small group 
of houses including the trading post, which 
went under the name of the Labrador Fur 
Company, and as the wife of the trader had 
just entertained eight Indians at dinner she 
was much wearied, yet on learning that we 
came from the States and talked English, — 
she herself came from Chicago, — she and her 
husband made us at home, and gave us with 
the aid of a piano and her pleasant voice a 
musical evening. 
Another building on the right bank was the 
house of the telegraph operator, he of the 
wig and a face devoid of eyebrows, lashes and 
beard. The trader told us that some years 
ago this man and another strongly opposed the 
appointment of a certain schoolmaster by the 
124 
