A LABRADOR SPRING 
faded pieces of coloured cloth against the 
weather. One little boy of three or four years 
wore a long fur coat with skin side out, and a 
hood that dangled at his back. When I tried 
to photograph him he screamed with terror and 
hid behind his mother. Doubtless he thought 
me an Iroquois. A pitiable cripple, an aged 
child with shrunken body and twisted ex- 
tremities, scurried prone like a hideous great 
spider over the sands, scaled the sides of a 
canoe and dropped into its depths. 
Pipe-smoking was well nigh universal, and 
not confined to the men, nor to the adults. I 
shall always remember the picture made on the 
background of this bleak shore by a buxom 
young matron, with the usual coquettish 
rosettes of hair before her ears and her jaunty 
red and blue liberty cap, a tight fitting red 
woollen bodice, green plaid skirt, so short as to 
fully display stout legs clad in thick woollen 
stockings of red and white and in embroidered 
moccasins, striding over the sands, smoking a 
pipe, and bearing, as carelessly and as easily as if 
they had been of feather-weight, a lusty papoose 
in her arms and a large pack on her shoulders. 
It was a busy and confusing scene, and one 
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