' 'ave 'em from th' Doctor."

XI

THE KIDNAPPERS

One day, as Grenfell was about to leave northern Labrador in his
little steamer the _Strathcona_, a man came aboard with trouble in his
eyes. It was the good-hearted Hudson's Bay agent.

"Doctor," he pleaded, "old Tommy Mitchell's been comin' in every
Saturday for two months, tryin' to get somethin' for his family. I've
been givin' him twenty pounds of flour a week for himself and wife and
six children. That's every shred they've got to live on. He hasn't a
salmon or a codfish to give me, and he was in debt when I came here.
What'll we do?"

The _Strathcona_ had steam up and was whistling to the Doctor to come
aboard. On the Labrador coast you must leave promptly or the sea may
punish you for the delay.

"See if you can't stop at the island off Napaktok Point, Doctor.
They're livin' out there with nothin' but their own hats to cover
'em--if they've got any."

"I will," the Doctor promised, and was off.

When they came near the island, the dory was lowered, and Grenfell and
his mate rowed toward the rocks.

"Can you see anything that looks like a house, Bill? You have better
eyes than mine."

"No, Doctor. I been a-lookin'. I sees--nothing."

"I didn't expect you to do as well as that," said the Doctor. "But
keep on looking. And call out when you see anything."

They rowed almost round the island, against a stiff head wind.

Each time they passed cove or headland they thought, "Well now, surely
it must be just around the next point."

"There's a smoke, sir!" cried the sharp-eyed Bill.

Sure enough--there was a tiny wisp of smoke, trickling up the face of
the rocks.

But no hut was to be seen.

They landed, and pulled the boat out on the beach.

Then they went toward the smoke. The fire was built among flat stones
out in the open.

A hollow-cheeked woman sat with a poor, scrawny scrap of a baby on her
arm. In her other hand she held what looked like an old paint can, and
she was stirring some thin sort of gruel in it, in spite of the weight
of the baby on her arm. It was not heavy, poor little creature!

"Good-morning. Where's your tent?" Grenfell asked, cheerily.

"There she is."

The woman pointed with the gruel stick to a mass of canvas and
matting, plastered in patches with mud against the face of the cliff.

"Why do you cook in the open?"

"'Cos us hasn't got no stove."

"Where's Tom?"

"He's away. He's gone off wid Johnnie,