rest. After the length of this letter I judge that
you envy him that repose, so I release you with my love.

_St. Antoine Orphanage at last
Address for one year
July 6_

I have at last arrived at the back of beyond. We should have steamed
right past the entrance of our harbour if the navigation had been in
my hands. You make straight for a great headland jutting out into the
Atlantic, when the ship suddenly takes a sharp turn round an abrupt
corner, and before you know it, you are advancing into the most
perfect of landlocked harbours. A great cliff rises on the
left,--Quirpon Point they call it,--and clinging to its base like an
overgrown limpet is a tiny cottage, with its inevitable fish stage.
Farther along are more houses; then a white church with a pointed
spire, and a bright-green building near by, while across the path is a
very pretty square green school. Next are the Mission buildings in a
group. Beyond them come more small houses--"Little Labrador" I
learned later that this group is called, because the people living
there have almost all come over from the other side of the Straits of
Belle Isle.

The ship's ladder was dropped as we came to anchor opposite the small
Mission wharf. The water is too shallow to allow a large steamer to go
into it, but the hospital boat, the Northern Light, with her draft of
only eight feet, can easily make a landing there. We scrambled over
the side and secured a seat in the mail boat. Before we knew it four
hearty sailors were sweeping us along towards the little dock. Here,
absolutely wretched and forlorn, painfully conscious of crumpled and
disordered garments, I turned to face the formidable row of Mission
staff drawn up in solemn array to greet us. As the doctor-in-charge
stepped forward and with a bland smile hoped I had had a "comfortable
journey," and bade me welcome to St. Antoine, with a prodigious effort
I contorted my features into something resembling a grin, and limply
shook his outstretched hand. To-morrow I mean to make enquiries about
retiring pensions for Mission workers!

No one had much sympathy with me over the loss of my trunk. They
laughed and said I would be fortunate if it appeared by the end of the
summer. You had better send me a box by freight with some clothing in
it; I otherwise shall have to live in bed, or seek admission to
hospital as a "chronic."

How perfectly dear of you to have a letter awaiting me at the
Orphanage. Regar