r little day." Last summer she found no less important a
personage than the leader of the team in her bed. Her newly baked
"loaf" was lying on the pantry shelf before the open window. Whiskey
(this place is strictly prohibition, but every team boasts its
"Whiskey") leaped in, made a satisfying banquet off her bread, and
then forced open the door into her bedroom adjoining the pantry. He
found it a singularly barren field for adventure, but after his
unaccustomed hearty meal the bed looked tempting. He was found there
two hours later placidly asleep.

[Illustration: MRS. UNCLE LIFE FOUND THE LEADER OF THE TEAM IN HER
BED]

The children are looking forward to Christmas and are already writing
letters to Santa Claus, which are handed to me with great secrecy to
mail to him. I once watched the little ones playing at Christmas with
an old stump of a bush to which they attached twigs as gifts and
gravely distributed them to one another. When I saw one mite handing a
dead twig to a smaller edition of himself, and announcing in a lordly
fashion that it was a PIANO, I realized what Father Christmas
was expected to be able to produce.

_November 1_

My world is transformed into fairyland. Light snow has fallen during
the night, and every "starigan," every patch of "tuckamore" is "decked
in sparkling raiment white." As I was dressing I looked out of my
window, and for the first time in my life saw a dog team and komatik
passing.

The day was full of adventure. For the children the snow meant only
rejoicing; but as the highway was as slippery as glass, and the older
folk had not yet got their "winter legs," there were many minor
casualties. Mrs. Uncle Life, aged seventy and small and spherical,
solved the problem of the hills by sitting down and sliding. She
commended the method to me, saying that it served very well on week
days, but was lamentably detrimental to her Sunday best.

Ananias is developing fast and bids fair to rival Topsy. He has a
mania for eating anything and everything, and what he cannot eat, he
destroys. Within the past few weeks he has swallowed the arm of his
Teddy bear, half a cake of soap, and a tube of tooth-paste. He has
also bitten through two new hot-water bottles. During the short time
he has been here he has broken more windows than any other child in
the Home. If he thinks politeness will save the day, he says in the
sweetest way possible, "Excuse me, Teacher, for doing it"; but