to have arrived at a halting place where we shall camp out for the night.  The wood is unloaded; to make the fire would be the first thing and then perhaps a snow-house for a shelter.  The sleeping sack is ready to be my night’s couch on the floor.  Meanwhile, the dogs lie quite contentedly, and we use the first opportunity to count them.  There are fourteen in harness and two are running beside them of their own accord, entering into the spirit of the thing in spite of their fear of that formidable whip.  Nine of these useful animals belong to the mission.  Their names are Yauerfritze, Purtzelmutter, Purtzel, Caro, Pius, Fanny (an exceptionally friendly Eskimo dog), Ammi, Kakkortak and Takkolik.  The others belong to different natives.

[Illustration:  TRAVELLING IN LABRADOR.]

Our imaginary night has been short enough, and we are supposed to be preparing for a new start.  “Look, see,” says Thomas to me, and pours some water on the iron of the runners, for the sledge has meanwhile been turned upside down.  Were it winter, that water would at once freeze on the iron and form a splendid smooth surface for the sledge to run on over ice or snow.  “Hoo-eet.”  The sledge has been turned right again and repacked, and the dogs get up.  No, there is nothing left behind.  “Hoo-eet;” away we go.  It is astonishing how widely the dogs spread themselves in pulling.  However, the course of the sledge, as it follows them, depends more on the nimble drivers.  See yonder dog is getting to the wrong side of that post, by way of illustrating the difficulties of travelling through a wood.  Hebron is beyond the northern limit of trees, but our missionaries at Hopedale have often great trouble in passing through forests of stunted fir-trees.  The front dogs also have got their traces foul of the two other posts in our forest of three trees without any branches.  So we are brought to a standstill until, all the harness being cleared, we are ready for a fresh start down that slope to the right.  “Owk, Owk,” is the word, but at the brook our wild career is brought to a sudden stop.  Our specimen sledge trip would not be complete without an accident.  The bed of the little stream proves just too wide for the sledge to clear it, and the points of the runners have bored into the further bank.  The thong of the sledge has broken in two places with the jerk, and the dogs who were pulling with might and main are suddenly released.  Four or five have been caught by our nimble Eskimoes, but the majority are off home.  Were the station three hours or three days distant and we were left in the snow it would be a bit different to the present situation.  The station is about three minutes distant, and we have time for a good laugh before our dogs are caught and brought back.  What has become of the passenger?  Oh, he is unhurt; the shock did not even unseat him.  There he sits on the sledge, which stretches like a little bridge from bank to bank.  It is freed from the earth,