January thirty-first: This terrible storm continues with snow drifting badly, and with wind most bitter cold. What about the boys on the Koyuk trail? I fear they will freeze to death. I have finished six drill parkies for the storekeeper, but cannot get them to him in the blizzard. February first: I found when calling upon Jennie today that her mother was sick in bed with a very bad throat, so I spent most of the day and evening there. I did all I could for Jennie as well as Mollie, doing my best to amuse the child, who is still strapped down on her bed, and must find the day long, though she has a good deal of company. I had a first-class six o'clock dinner at the hotel tonight,--that is, for Alaska, at this season of the year. February second: This is my birthday, and I have been thinking of my dear old mother so far away, who never forgets the date of her only daughter's birth, even if I do. I should like to see her, or, at least, have her know how well I am situated, and how contented I am, with a prospect before me which is as bright as that of most persons in this vicinity. If I could send my mother a telegram of a dozen words, I think they would read like this: "I am well and happy, with fair prospects. God is good." I think that would cheer her considerably. It is beginning to seem a little like spring, and the water is running down the walls and off the windows in rivers upon the floors of the Mission, which we are glad are bare of carpets; the snow having sifted into the attic and melted. The warm rain comes down at intervals, and we are hoping for an early spring. Mollie is really very sick, and must have a doctor, her throat being terribly swollen on one side. The pain and fever is intense, and though we are doing all we know how to do, she gets no better. Some men started out for the doctor at White Mountain, but there was too much water on the ice, and they returned. February sixth: The man who made the two reindeer sleds for his Kotzebue trip has gone at last with two loads and three reindeer. He wanted his drill parkie hood bordered with fur, as I had done some belonging to others, and I furnished the fox tails, and sewed them on for him. "Shall I stake a claim for you?" asked the man with a smile the day before he left the Mission. "O, I would like it so much!" said I, really delighted. "I did not wish to ask you, because I thought you had promised so many." "So I have," he replied, "but I guess I can stake for one more, and if I find anything good I will remember you." "Shall I have a paper made out?" I inquired, feeling it would be safer and better from a business point of view to do so.