r the natives in the house again tonight, and the doors had
to be left open on account of the pungent seal oil perfume from the
garments of the Eskimos.

The man who was killed was buried today in the edge of the little
graveyard on the hillside. The Swedish preacher was asked to go to the
grave, and he did so, reading a Psalm, and offering a prayer. Only four
or five men were present. It is a stony, lonely place, without a tree in
sight; the few scattering graves having only wooden slabs for head
boards. Being just above the beach, the spot commands a view of the bay
in front, but it is now all a snow and ice desert, and the most dreary
place imaginable. Very little was known of the murdered man, and no good
could be said of him, but it is supposed that he has a wife and children
somewhere.

What a dreadful ending! Will his family ever know what has become of
him, and is his mother still living? If so, I hope they may never learn
of his horrid death and worthless life in Alaska. He was never conscious
for a moment after being hurt, so they know nothing as to where to write
to his relatives. It makes one shudder to think of it! He may have been
a good and bright child, beloved by parents and brothers, but the drink
curse claimed him for its own.

The weather is clear, with sunshine and frost. The visiting preacher has
been making himself useful for a few days by helping us in cutting out
overalls and blouses for the Eskimo boys. Down on his knees upon the
floor, with shears, rolls of denim, and a pair of small trousers to
pattern by, he has wielded the little steel instrument to good purpose,
and encouraged and assisted us greatly.

With their new clothes, the children are all quite well pleased, for
they are fresh and sweet. The missionaries are trying very hard to teach
them cleanliness among other things, and they sometimes come and stand
in the doorway and look at us sewing, their faces always good natured,
and showing more or less curiosity. When told to run away to play, they
obey quickly, and little Pete and the others like to keep the wood boxes
filled to help us. The older girls being from ten to twelve years of
age, are often caring for and amusing Bessie, and she is fond of them,
until, like any other child, she cannot have her own way, and then she
disapproves of them by kicking and screaming till Miss J. comes to
settle the business.

CHAPTER XVIII.

SWARMING.

Arctic explorers have always