This evening we had service again in the church or schoolhouse, and the room was quite filled. The woman doctor was there, also the storekeeper and the United States Marshal, besides our own family, and a good many natives. Mr. H. preached, and was interpreted in Eskimo as usual. I wish some of my fastidious friends on the outside could have seen the cosmopolitan company of tonight. The refined and serious face of the storekeeper, the black-eyed doctor (woman), the fair-faced Swedes, and the square-jawed, determined official, made a striking contrast to the Eskimos dressed in fur parkies, and smelling of seal oil. Many of the latter continually carry small children on their backs underneath their parkies, a heavy belt or girdle of some sort keeping the youngster from falling to the ground, but the smaller ones are seldom brought out in the evening. These women squat upon the floor as often as they sit upon a chair, and when a baby cries from hunger he is promptly fed on ahmahmuk, (mother's milk,) regardless of the assembled company. With an Eskimo mother nothing comes before the child's wishes, and if the latter only succeeds in making his desires known to her, she will obey them to the letter. That there are unruly Eskimo youngsters, goes without saying, as a child does not need a white skin to help him understand this, and arrange his tactics accordingly. The Mission is crowded to its utmost, but I believe the hearts of the good missionaries are made of elastic. When we reached the house after service this evening we heard that a mail was expected, and would leave for Dawson tomorrow, so we set to work to write letters, and then found it all a mistake, for it is only going to Nome from Unalaklik, and we were all disappointed. The weather today, November seventeenth, is a great surprise to us. It is raining, and so icy underfoot as to be positively dangerous to life and limb. I had occasion to go out for a while this forenoon, and knew no better than to wear my muckluks, which are smooth as glass on the bottoms. To make things more lively, the wind blew a gale from the northeast. When I left the house, I was going in the same direction as the wind, and though I nearly fell many times I kept stubbornly on, determined not to be vanquished. On my return--then came the "tug of war." Near the warehouse a gust of wind took me unawares, and, whisk! in a minute I was sprawling flat upon the ice. I had gone out with my Indian blanket over my head and shoulders, and this blew out like a sail, upsetting my tall and slippery footed craft, and bumping me ignominiously.