The children of an Eskimo community have quite a good time. Whenever infanticide has been practised among these people, it was never through cruelty or wanton waste of infant life, but simply because of a dearth of provisions. As a matter of fact, the Eskimo prides himself on having as large a family as possible. He is entitled to have as many wives as he can support. It is not uncommon for a well-found man to have three wives—possibly sisters—all living amicably together. The children are named after some place or object, and many names descend from father to son. Thus we have “Moneapik,” the little egg; “Oonapik,” the little hunting spear; “Pitsoolak,” the sea pigeon; “Shokak,” roof of the mouth; and other names too crude for translation. The pastimes of the children are just like those of children all the world over. On fine days they romp with the puppies, as described elsewhere, or they borrow a sealskin from their mothers and, finding a snow incline, drag it to the top and toboggan down on it in fine style and with resounding glee. They build snow houses; play with little improvised sledges; kick a seal bladder about by way of a ball; discover cat’s cradles for themselves with any odd bits of thong; and get up to all the usual mischief with bows and arrows. The girls make dolls. The boys have an ivory top corresponding to cup and ball, and another game called “spearing the seal,” which is played by two, with a piece of skin for the ice, and a bit of bone that moves about underneath it for the seal. There is a blow hole, of course, and a miniature spear. The education of the Eskimo boy all turns on hunting. All sorts of curious observances wait on his first adventures in that line. When he secures his first weasel, for instance, he gives it to the dogs, simply to be torn in pieces; and that night has to sit up by the igloo door, one hand on hip and in the other a lamp stick. Possibly the root idea is to defend himself from the spirit of the little beast. When he gets his first bird, Young Hopeful sits in the middle of the sleeping bench, his mother on one side and his grandmother on the other. The boy is told to take off his jacket, and the two women wrench the bird apart between them in a sort of tug of war, to the accompaniment of cries of congratulation. The mangled spoil is then eaten to bring good luck to the boy. The following tale of the voluntary suicide of the old people who feel that they have outgrown their usefulness to the community, and have rather become a burden to it, shows how strongly the communal feeling dominates the Eskimo, how essential to existence each one of them finds the social life of the tribe and village to be.