f the round
earth, which seems to love them all like a mother.

This is the little brown baby. Do you love her? Do you think you would
know her if you should meet her some day?

A funny little brown sister. Are all of them brown?

We will see, for here comes Agoonack and her sledge.

AGOONACK, THE ESQUIMAU SISTER.

What is this odd-looking mound of stone? It looks like the great brick
oven that used to be in our old kitchen, where, when I was a little
girl, I saw the fine large loaves of bread and the pies and puddings
pushed carefully in with a long, flat shovel, or drawn out with the
same when the heat had browned them nicely.

Is this an oven standing out here alone in the snow?

You will laugh when I tell you that it is not an oven, but a house;
and here lives little Agoonack.

Do you see that low opening, close to the ground? That is the door;
but one must creep on hands and knees to enter. There is another
smaller hole above the door: it is the window. It has no glass, as
ours do; only a thin covering of something which Agoonack's father
took from the inside of a seal, and her mother stretched over the
window-hole, to keep out the cold and to let in a little light.

Here lives our little girl; not as the brown baby does, among the
trees and the flowers, but far up in the cold countries amid snow and
ice.

If we look off now, over the ice, we shall see a funny little clumsy
thing, running along as fast as its short, stout legs will permit,
trying to keep up with its mother. You will hardly know it to be a
little girl, but might rather call it a white bear's cub, it is so
oddly dressed in the white, shaggy coat of the bear which its father
killed last month. But this is really Agoonack; you can see her round,
fat, greasy little face, if you throw back the white jumper-hood which
covers her head. Shall I tell you what clothes she wears?

Not at all like yours, you will say; but, when one lives in cold
countries, one must dress accordingly.

First, she has socks, soft and warm, but not knit of the white yarn
with which mamma knits yours. Her mamma has sewed them from the skins
of birds, with the soft down upon them to keep the small brown feet
very warm. Over these come her moccasins of sealskin.

If you have been on the seashore, perhaps you know the seals that
are sometimes seen swimming in the sea, holding up their brown heads,
which look much like dogs' heads, wet and dripping.

The seals l