he brave little maid had gone at last beyond the
beck and call of men.

It was midnight, and over the dim and smoking lamp the captain and the
Doctor decided that the best thing to do was to make a bonfire of the
girl's few poor effects.

So they took her meagre clothes and miserable bedding out on the
cliffs, piled them, soaked them in oil, and set them afire.

The flames leapt high and made a beacon to be seen afar.

Out there on the black face of the deep six hopeless, helpless men in
a trap-boat, groping their way blindly, saw the flames and took heart
again.

"See!" they cried to one another. "Look there! Up yonder on the
cliffs! They're givin' us a light to steer by!"

They drove their oars into the yeasty waves again with strength
renewed. Little did they know what it was that had made the light for
them.

When at last they dragged their boat ashore and hobbled to the hut,
they saw the body of the girl, the lamp, and the captain and the
Doctor making the body ready for the burial. They entered the hut, and
were told what had happened.

"B'ys," said the foremost, "she's dead. Mary's dead. The last thing
she did was to give us a light to show us the way home. Poor girl,
poor little girl!"

Once when a small steamer Grenfell was using had broken down, he found
shelter in a one room hut ashore.

The inmates had few clothes, almost no food, and neither tools nor
proper furniture. There was nothing between them and the Aurora
Borealis but ruin and famine. There were eight children. Five slept in
one bed: three slept with the parents in the other bed: Grenfell in
his sleeping-bag lay on the floor, his nose at the crack of the door
to get fresh air.

They all suffered from the cold, for there was not a blanket in the
house.

"Where's the blanket I sent you last year?" asked the Doctor.

The mother raised her skinny arm and pointed about the room to patched
trousers and coats.

Then she said, with a good deal of feeling, "If youse had five lads
all trying to get under one covering to onct, Doctor, you'd soon know
what would happen to that blanket."

First thing in the morning, Grenfell boiled some cocoa, and took the
two elder boys out for a seal-hunt.

To a boy on the Labrador, a seal-hunt is the biggest kind of a lark.
If it is winter, the seals may be caught near their blow-holes in the
ice, and hit over the head with a stick called a gaff. In summer, they
must be shot from a boat.

One of the