vironment. Then last of all came the general meeting
in Uncle Jim's house at night to ask the Lord to open the windows of
heaven for the benefit of the pathetic little group on the island.
Next morning the first thing on which our eyes lighted was the belated
trader, actually driven north again by the storm, anchored right in
the harbour. Of course Uncle Jim knew that it would be there.
Personally, I did not expect her, so can claim no credit for the
telepathy; but if faith ever did work wonders it was on that occasion.
There were laughing faces and happy hearts as we said good-bye, when
my dainty little lady spread her wings to a fair breeze a day or so
later.

The gallant little Sir Donald did herself every credit the following
year, and we not only visited the coast as far north as Cape Chidley,
but explored the narrow channel which runs through the land into
Ungava Bay, and places Cape Chidley itself on a detached island.

There were a great many fishing schooners far north that season, and
the keen pleasures of exploring a truly marvellous coast, practically
uncharted and unknown, were redeemed from the reproach of selfishness
by the numerous opportunities for service to one's fellow men.

[Illustration: THE LABRADOR DOCTOR IN SUMMER]

Once that summer we were eleven days stuck in the ice, and while there
the huge mail steamer broke her propeller, and a boat was sent up to
us through the ice to ask for our help. The truck on my mastheads was
just up to her deck. The ice was a lot of trouble, but we got her into
safety. On board were the superintendent of the Moravian Missions and
his wife. They were awfully grateful. The great tub rolled about so in
the Atlantic swell that the big ice-pans nearly came on deck. My
dainty little lady took no notice of anything and picked her way among
the pans like Agag "treading delicately." We had five hours' good
push, however, to get into Battle Harbour. It was calm in the
ice-field, only the heavy tide made it run and the little "alive"
steamer with human skill beat the massive mountains of ice into a
cocked hat.

At Indian Tickle there is a nice little church which was built by
subscription and free labour the second year we came on the coast.
There is one especially charming feature about this building. It
stands in such a position that you can see it as you come from the
north miles away from the harbour entrance, and it is so situated that
it leads directly into the