Through the night the south wind rose to a gale, and showers of rain fell.  On Sunday morning I was up at 7 A.M., and after a nice, lazy bath, luxuriously dressed myself in clean clothes.  Then came a little reading from a tiny book that had been in Labrador before, and a good deal of thinking.  Just after 9 A.M.  I lay down to go to sleep again.  I had not realised it before, but I was very tired.  My eyes had closed but a moment when rat-a-tat-tat on the mixing pan announced breakfast.  Joe had prepared it, and the others came straggling out one by one looking sleepy and happy, enjoying the thought of the day’s rest, the more that it was the kind of day to make it impossible to travel.  Returning to my tent after the meal I lay down to sleep.  My head had no sooner touched the pillow than I was asleep, and did not wake till 1.30 P.M.

I could hear Gil outside preparing lunch, and went out to see how he was getting on.  It was the first time he had attempted anything in the cooking line, and he looked anxious.  We were to have fried cakes and tea, and Gil was cooking the fried cakes.  They were not much to look at, for the wind had coated them well with ashes; but they tasted good, and the youngster looked quite relieved at the way they disappeared when we began to eat.

Michikamats was certainly very picturesque in the gale.  The wind had six miles of unbroken sweep, and stirred the lake to wild commotion.  Out of shelter I could scarcely stand against it.  For a long time I watched two gulls trying to fly into the wind.  They were very persistent and made a determined fight, but were at last compelled to give up and drop back to land.  I spent nearly the whole afternoon watching the storm, running to cover only while the showers passed.

When we gathered for supper in the evening Job was holding a pot over the fire, and did not move to get his plate and cup with the rest.  George gave me my plate of soup, and when I had nearly finished it Job set the pot down beside me, saying gently:  “I just set this right here.”  In the pot were three fried cakes, crisp and hot and brown, exactly as I liked them.

There was much speculation as to what we should find at the head of Lake Michikamats, and I wondered how much scouting there would be to do to find the George River waters.  If only we could see the Indians.  Time was slipping away all too fast; the last week in August was not far distant, and the George River waters might not be easy to find.  The days were becoming increasingly anxious for me.  Our caribou meat was nearly gone, and a fresh supply of game would have been very welcome.  There would be a chance to put out the nets when we reached the head of the lake, and the scouting had to be done.  The nets had not yet touched the water.