upon him in one of his resting periods, but as soon as
Hubbard had pinned him down to an agreement he put in an immediate plea
for money.

"I'se huntin' grub, sir," he begged. "I has t' hunt grub all th' time,
sir. Could 'un spare a dollar t' buy grub, sir?"

Hubbard gave him the dollar, and he forthwith proceeded to the trader's
hut to purchase flour and molasses, which, with fat salt pork, are the
great staples of the Labrador natives, although the coast livyeres
seldom can afford the latter dainty. While we were preparing to start,
Hubbard asked Steve what he generally did for a living.

"I hunts in winter an' fishes in summer, sir," was the reply.

"What do you hunt?

"Fur an' partridges, sir. I trades the fur for flour and molasses,
sir, an' us eats th' partridges."

"What kind of fur do you find here?"

"Foxes is about all, sir, an' them's scarce; only a chance one, sir."

"Do you catch enough fur to keep you in flour and molasses?"

"Not always, sir. Sometimes us has only partridges t' eat, sir."

We started at five o'clock in the evening in Steve's boat, the
Mayflower, a leaky little craft that kept one man pretty busy bailing
out the water. She carried one ragged sail, and Steve sculled and
steered with a rough oar about eighteen feet long. An hour after we
got under way a blanket of grey fog, thick and damp, enveloped us; but
so long are the Labrador summer days that there still was light to
guide us when at eleven o'clock Steve said:

"Us better land yere, sir. I lives yere, an' 'tis a good spot t' stop
for th' night, sir."

I wondered what sort of an establishment Steve maintained, and drawing
an inference from his personal appearance, I had misgivings as to its
cleanliness. However, anything seemed better than chilling fog, and
land we did--in a shallow cove where we bumped over a partly submerged
rock and manoeuvred with difficulty among others, that raised their
heads ominously above the water. As we approached, we made out through
the fog the dim outlines, close to the shore, of a hut partially
covered with sod. Our welcome was tumultuous--a combination of the
barking of dogs and the shrill screams of women demanding to know who
we were and what we wanted. There were two women, tall, scrawny, brown,
with hair flying at random. The younger one had a baby in her arms.
She was Steve's married sister. The other woman was his mother. Each
was loosely clad in a dirty calico go