here. The sitting-room is about fourteen
feet by twelve; its panelled walls are coloured a blue-green. The
floor is boarded, and over the middle a carpet is laid. In front of
the sofa, the seat of honour, stands a little table, and the high back
of my antique chair is within a foot of it as I write at the bureau
against the opposite wall. By the way, what convenient pieces of
furniture these bureaus are, especially to a visitor who has so much
writing to do! The other chair is of like pattern, with seat stuffed
and covered with sealskin. It stands between the door into the
bedroom and the high, white stove. Of course open fire-places are
unknown in Labrador, nor would they effectually warm the rooms. In the
corner by the door the Eskimo bench is the regular institution.
Sometimes my door opens, a native enters, sits down and smiles at me.
When we have exchanged the usual greetings, "Aksunai" (be strong) and
"Ahaila" (yes), my Eskimo vocabulary is nearly at an end, and I have
to fetch an interpreter. A cupboard and a stool complete the inventory
of my furniture. Do my readers wish to look into the bedroom about
fourteen feet by six? Two little bedsteads and another bureau scarcely
leave room to pass to the window. The prophet's table, chair, and
candlestick are there, also a washstand, a strip of carpet by the bed,
a little looking-glass, and some useful rows of hooks: I think that is
all; but in my endeavour to give a correct idea of the godly
simplicity of such a mission-house, I would not for anything
misrepresent the hospitable care, of which at every station I have the
most pleasant and grateful remembrance.

Now look out of my window. High hills close in the bay where the
"Harmony" lies at anchor some distance from the shore. Yesterday a
strong wind made her roll even in the harbour. The mission premises
stand within a few yards of the beach and the little pier runs out
into the water just in front of the gate. The tide is out now, and the
lighter which is bringing the stores from the ship has got aground.
The mate and some Eskimoes are trying to push it off, and among the
rest two women are standing in the water and pushing manfully. Their
position and occupation illustrate the utility of their national
female costume of trousers and boots. Skirts would be impracticable
when they go out boating and fishing with their husbands or trudge
through the deep snow, which lies on the ground more than half a year.
Nevert