d and
loneliness again. I write for a certain magazine, and the children in
'The Corner' will become his guardians." Thus the "Corner Cot" was
founded, and occupied by the little Eskimo Prince for the brief
remainder of his life.

On my return the following summer the child's joyful laughter greeted
me as he said, "Me Gabriel Pomiuk now." A good Moravian Brother had
come along during the winter and christened the child by the name of
the angel of comfort.

In a sheltered corner of a little graveyard on the Labrador coast
rests the tiny body of this true prince. When he died the doctor in
charge of the hospital wrote me that the building seemed desolate
without his smiling, happy face and unselfish presence. The night that
he was buried the mysterious aurora lit up the vault of heaven. The
Innuits, children of the Northland, call it "the spirits of the dead
at play." But it seemed to us a shining symbol of the joy in the City
of the King that another young soldier had won his way home.

* * * * *

The Roman Catholic Church is undoubtedly correct in stating that the
first seven years of his life makes the child. Missions have always
emphasized the importance of the children from a purely propaganda
point of view. But our Children's Home was not begun for any such
reason. Like Topsy, "it just grow'd." I had been summoned to a lonely
headland, fifty miles from our hospital at Indian Harbour, to see a
very sick family. Among the spruce trees in a small hut lived a Scotch
salmon fisher, his wife and five little children. When we anchored off
the promontory we were surprised to receive no signs of welcome. When
we landed and entered the house we found the mother dead on the bed
and the father lying on the floor dying. Next morning we improvised
two coffins, contributed from the wardrobes of all hands enough black
material for a "seemly" funeral, and later, steaming up the bay to a
sandy stretch of land, buried the two parents with all the ceremonies
of the Church--and found ourselves left with five little mortals in
black sitting on the grave mound. We thought that we had done all that
could be expected of a doctor, but we now found the difference. It
looked as if God expected more. An uncle volunteered to assume one
little boy and we sailed away with the remainder of the children.
Having no place to keep them, we wrote to a friendly newspaper in New
England and advertised for foster parents