The next day it still snowed a little at intervals between clouds and sunshine, and all "tenderfeet" were more comfortable indoors. Miss E. and Ricka had gone the day before with the boys and Mr. H. to the Home on a scow-load of lumber, though we feared it was pretty cold for them without shelter on the water; but with the wind in the right direction, they wanted to attempt it, and so started. They were to look the new building over for the first time, Miss E. being much interested in the inside arrangement of rooms, naturally, as it was to be her home and field of labor, and rightly thinking a womanly suggestion, perhaps, might make the kitchens more handy. In their absence the rest of us continued our sewing, Miss L. taking Miss E.'s place in the kitchen, with help from the larger Eskimo girls at dish washing. The latter were docile and smiling, and one little girl called Ellen was always exceedingly careful to put each cup and saucer, spoon and dish in its proper place after drying it, showing a commendable systematic instinct, which Miss E. was trying to foster. Between times, their school not yet being in session, they played about, either up in their rooms if it was too stormy outside, or out of doors if the weather permitted; though, for that matter, they seldom hesitated to do anything they wished on account of the weather, as it was not so cold to the natives as to us. They played with balls, both large and small, and sleds of all descriptions; and if the latter were not to be had, or all in use, a barrel stave or board would be made to answer the same purpose. It was a rush past the window down the hill, first by a pair of muckluked feet, then a barrel stave and a boy, sometimes little Pete, and sometimes John. One barrel stave would hold only one coaster, and there were usually enough for the boys, but if by chance the little girls laid hands upon the sleds before they did, the staves were then their only resource. If a child rolled, by accident, upon the ground, it never seemed to matter, for in furs he was well protected. The snow was soft, and he, being as much at home there as anywhere, seemed rather to like it. If he was seen to fall, it was the signal for some other to roll and tumble him, keeping him under as long as possible, and it was a frequent sight to see three or four small boys tumbling about like kittens, locked in each other's arms, and all kicking and shouting good-naturedly. Snowballing, too, was their delight, and their balls were not always velvety, either, as the one stopping its course could affirm. These children did little quarreling. I cannot remember seeing Eskimo boys angry or fighting, a thing quite noticeable among them, for nowhere in the world, perhaps, could the same number of white children be found living so quietly and harmoniously together as did these twelve little dark-faced Eskimos in the Mission.