and sunset, the
latter at half-past one o'clock.

While giving Jennie her lesson today I was introduced for the first time
to little Charlie, who spends a good deal of time with Jennie. He is
four years old, and a bright and beautiful child. His papa is an
Englishman, and his Eskimo mother is dead. After the lesson I read
stories to the two children, holding the little boy upon my lap, while
Jennie sat beside us in the lamplight, her big black eyes shining like
stars. She wore a brown serge dress, trimmed with narrow red trimming,
her hair neatly braided in two braids down her back, and tied with red
ribbons. Both children wore little reindeer muckluks on their feet, the
boy being dressed in flannel blouse waist and knee pants. They are a
very pretty pair of children.

Such a charming, soft-tinted, red, purple and blue sky today, stretching
along in bars above the snow-topped mountains. It makes one glad to be
here, and feel full of pity for those who cannot enjoy it with us. It is
good to enjoy everything possible as one goes along, for nobody knows
how long anything will hold out and what will come next. At noon two
hungry Eskimo children came, dirty, forlorn and cold, and we fed them.

Mr. H. came again toward evening with reindeer to get a load of
supplies, and the girls and M. went fishing. They had great sport, all
dressed in fur, with short fish poles, hooks, bait and gunny sack for
the game, coming in frosty and rosy after dark, and calling for hot
coffee.

I am quite interested in getting the fox skins for my coat. I have paid
the Eskimo girl five dollars for tanning my fur skins, and hope to have
a warm coat. My first three skins cost me twelve dollars, the next two
ten dollars, and now five dollars for tanning, but I have a lining, and
Mollie will make it for me next week.

After supper we had a caller who has been here once before with others.
He is a finely trained baritone singer, and comes from one of the
Southern States. He sang and played entertainingly on the organ for an
hour, while we sewed and knitted as we do each evening.

Saturday, December fifteenth: Eight weeks today since we landed at
Golovin Bay. Weather good, skies beautiful, but days are short. Sunset
at half-past one in the afternoon; sunrise about ten in the morning.

The Commissioner came with legal documents and customary jokes, and I
try to get the copying done in between times. He is going to Nome for
Christmas, and wants the