Here, in the mud hut, Doctor Grenfell found her one day. She was
sitting on the earthen floor, talking to herself and playing with a
bit of broken crockery, her only toy. He gathered her into his big
strong arms and I have no doubt that tears filled his eyes as he
looked into her innocent little face and carried her down to his boat.

In a locker on his ship, the _Strathcona_, there were neat little
clothes that thoughtful children in our own country had sent him to
give to the destitute little ones of Labrador. He turned the baby girl
over to his big mate, who had babies of his own at home. The mate
stroked her tangled hair with a brawney hand, and talked baby talk to
her, and as she snuggled close in his fatherly arms, he carried her
below decks. The baby's mother would not have known her little
daughter if, two hours later, she had gone aboard the _Strathcona_ and
heard the peals of laughter and seen the happy little thing, bathed,
dressed in neat clean clothes, and well fed, playing on deck with a
pretty doll that Doctor Grenfell had somewhere found.

It was on his last cruise south late one fall, and not long before
navigation closed, that Doctor Grenfell learned that a family of
liveyeres encamped on one of the coastal islands was in a destitute
condition, without food and practically unsheltered and unclothed.

He went immediately in search, steaming nearly around the island, and
discerning no sign of life he had decided that the people had gone,
when a little curl of smoke rising from the center of the island
caught his eye. He at once brought his vessel to, let go the anchor,
lowered away a boat and accompanied by his mate pulled ashore. Making
the boat fast the two men scrambled up the rocks and set out in the
direction from which they had seen the smoke rise.

Near the center of the island they suddenly brought up before a cliff,
against which, supported by poles, was stretched a sheet of old
canvas, pieced out by bits of matting and bagging, to form the roof of
a lean-to shelter. In front of the lean-to a fire burned, and under
the shelter by the fire sat a scantily clad, bedraggled woman. In her
arms she held a bundle of rags, which proved to envelop a tiny new
born baby, nursing at her breast.

A little girl of five, barefooted and ragged, slunk timidly back as
the strangers approached. The woman grunted a greeting, but did not
rise.

"Where is your man?" asked Doctor Grenfell.

"He's right hand