it her
children's clothes, and rise again at dawn to prepare breakfast for
the men of the household.

The following day saw us homeward bound, only this time the travelling
was not so romantic, for a "mild" had set in, and the going was
superlatively slushy. The dogs had all they could do to drag the
komatik with the luggage on it. The humans walked, generally in front
of the dogs, and on snow racquets, to make the trail a bit easier for
the animals. This may sound an interesting way to spend a winter's
day, but after twenty minutes of it you would cry "enough." When we
reached Belvy Bay the ice around the shore was broken into great pans,
but in the middle it looked good. To go round is an endless task, so
we risked crossing. It was easy to get off to the centre, for the big
pans at the edge would float a far greater weight than a komatik and
dogs and three people. The ice in the middle, however, which had
looked so sure from the landwash, proved to be "black"--that is, very,
very thin, though being salt-water ice, it was elastic. It was waving
up and down so as almost to make one seasick, but in its elasticity
lay our only chance of safety. We flung ourselves down at full length
on the komatik to give as broad a surface of resistance as possible,
and what encouragement was given the dogs we did with our voices. Four
miles did we drive over that swaying surface, and though at the time
we were too excited to be nervous, we were glad to reach the "_terra
firma_" of the standing ice edge.

At each place we were received with the most cordial welcome, and
scarcely allowed even to express our gratitude. It was always they who
were so eager to thank us for giving them unasked the "pleasure of
our company." Their reception is always very touching. They put the
best they have before you and will take nothing for their hospitality.

In my various letters to you I have so often taken away the characters
of our dogs that I must tell you of one, just to show that I have not
altered in my devotion to our "true first friend." This dog's name was
"Black," and he lived many years ago at Mistaken Cove. The tales of
his beauty, his cleverness at tricks, and his endurance of
difficulties are still told, but chiefly of his devotion to his
master. After years of this companionship the beloved master died and
was buried in the woods near his lonely little house. Black was
inconsolable. He would eat nothing; he started up at every slighte