Childbirth is always attended by the women conjurors, never by the men. The event in itself is thought little of, and not looked forward to with any dread. The writer has known of a case of husband and wife being on the trail together with their sled, in midwinter, when the woman was taken in labour. The man merely stopped the team and hastily put up a snow shelter. The wife retired to it for a little while, then placed the new-born child in her hood, clambered back upon the sled, and continued the journey. A long day’s journey later, they reached the village for which they were making, and in a very short while the mother was walking about in it, as well and strong as ever. The would-be mother who has reason to fear her hopes of a child are groundless, has recourse to the conjuror, the Angakok. Here again, the interrogations, the incantations, the conjuration to which this worthy commits himself (the while his spirit is supposed to ascend to the moon to procure “material for a child”), the conjuror claims and is allowed the right of cohabitation and so follow the accompaniment of a natural sequence of events, which probably result in the woman realising her desire. In many instances the superstitions with which Eskimo laws and injunctions are wrapped up, serve to enforce them. Otherwise they would either not be followed at all, or would have no weight in public estimation. It is only possible to make head or tail of primitive ritual by the aid of some tentative interpretation of the sort, which must be deduced from long familiarity with the people amid their own surroundings. All was quiet in the village. The sealers had gone off early in the morning, taking the boys with them, and the women had settled down to their own tasks for the day. The old folks were for the most part asleep on the sleeping benches in the dwellings. It was a cloudy day, visibility very low, sun-dogs in the misty heavens foretold bad weather to come. Suddenly a tumult of sound broke upon the village, and the few old dogs left there on guard gave vigorous tongue in turn, as somewhere from out the murk came a chorus of yowls and yelps mingled with the shouts of men and the sharp crack of whips. An immediate exodus took place. Everyone sprang up and ran off to meet the newcomers. The children scrambled up the cliff at the back of the little settlement, sheltering it, and the elders tottered along to the head of the pathway cut through the sijak or shore ice, to catch a glimpse of the strangers and their sleds. Presently two large travelling outfits with full team of dogs, and crowded with Eskimo, swept into view. Cries of “Chimo! Chimo!” (Welcome) resounded from every side, and there were hearty hand-shakings as the strangers tumbled out and declared their gladness to have arrived.