"Yes, chillun, yes. Dey rub him an' rub him, an' do everything to fotch him to life. But, my Jerry war dead. An' when me'n de ole man come home from de funeral--dey buried him in de white folks' buryin'-groun,' long side o' Miss May's little gal what died--an' put a tombstone at de head--when we come home from de funeral dat night, de ole man look at de baby on my lap an' he say, 'Delphy, honey,' he say, 'I think disher baby mout be name _Grief_.' An' we name him Grief." Mammy Delphy wiped her eyes and resumed her work. Then, looking up to the blue sky which shone between the vines, she began singing again: "Call me in de mornin' Lord, Or call me in de night, I'se always ready Lord, Glory Halla_lu_!" And the boys, subdued and silent, and for a moment forgetful of horned-frogs and crawfish, went away softly, as if leaving a grave. SAMMY SEALSKIN'S ENEMY. "Where going, Sammy Sealskin?". "Down to my kayah, Tommy Fishscales." "Is there any fish to-day?" "A few, they say, but there is lots of seals--plenty of 'em on the rocks in the bay." "All right; bring home something to your friend, Tommy." Sammy pushed off his kayah from shore. It was a funny sort of boat, according to our notions. It was only nine inches deep, and about a foot and a half wide in the middle, tapering to a point at either end and curving upward. It was about sixteen feet long. Its frame was of very light wood, and this was covered with tanned seal-skin. Sammy's mother was a Greenlander, and she could sew on seal-skin very handily, using sinews for thread; and she had covered her little boy's boat with seal-skin, leaving a hole in the centre just large enough to receive Sammy. When he had dropped into his place, he then laced the lower border of his jacket to the rim of the hole, and there he was all snug--not a drop of water could get in. Grasping his single oar, about six feet long, with a paddle at either end, and flourishing it in the water right and left, away swept the young fisherman. "I should think his craft would be top-heavy, and over he would go," says some reader. One naturally would think his craft would be top-heavy and over he would go, as the kayah has no keel and carries no ballast, and if we should try a kayah, it would certainly be on land. But those Greenlanders learn to handle themselves so well that their kayahs will go dancing over the big billows and then fly through a ragged, dangerous surf. From their kayahs, too, they will fight the fierce white bear. Ah! Sammy, what is the matter? "Ugh-h-h-h!" Sammy gives a melancholy groan. He begins to suspect that his boat is leaking. _Could_ any one have slit the seal-skin bottom? The kayah is really settling. Sammy feels troubled. "I _must_ go home," he says.