s "on the dogs" instead of the rolling sea. We left for Belvy
(Bellevue) Bay in good time in the morning--"got our anchors early,"
as our "carter" put it. The animation of the dogs, the lovely
snow-covered country, the bright winter's sun pouring down, and doubly
brilliant by reflection from the dazzling snow, the huge bonfire in
the woods where we "cooked the kettle," all make one understand the
call which the gipsy answers. Of course there is another side to the
story, when one is caught out in bitter weather in a blizzard of
driving snow and sleet, and loses the way, or perhaps has to stay out
in the open through the night. For instance, this winter four of the
Mission dogs have perished through frost-bite on these journeys; and
only last week we heard that one of the mail carriers on the west
coast had been frozen to death.

A few years ago one dark and stormy night the Church of England
clergyman was called to the sick-bed of a parishioner. He set out at
once to cross the frozen bay and reached the cottage in safety. After
a visit with the dying man he started on his homeward way. It was cold
but clear, and he covered half the distance without trouble. Then the
weather veered and blinding snow began to drive. The traveller lost
his way battling against it, and finally sank down utterly exhausted.
He was found dead in the morning on the open bay.

A day's trip brought us to Grevigneux, a charming little village
nestling in a great bowl formed by the towering cliffs above and
around it. Every one in the settlement is a Roman Catholic. Never did
I receive such a welcome; the people are so friendly and unspoiled.
The priest is a Frenchman, sensible, hearty, full of humour and love
for his people. Both his ideas and his manner of expressing them are
naive and appealing. I had been told that in his sermons he admonished
certain members of his flock by name for their shortcomings. When I
questioned him about this he gave me the following explanation: "You
see, miss, when I die I shall stand before the Lord and my people will
be standing behind me. The Lord will look them over and then look at
me, and if any one of them isn't there he will say, 'Cartier, where is
Tom Flannigan?' And I should have to answer, 'Gone to Purgatory for
stealing boots.' And the Lord will say to me, 'Why, didn't he know
better than to steal boots? You ought to have told him.' Whatever
could I say for myself then?"

The next night we spent at La