Swinging his oar right and left he dashed into the church. Such a scene as met his eyes! The dogs had been tearing the hymn-books apart as if they were slabs of raw seal-meat. For the Eskimos had been handling the books with their fingers fresh from cleaning fish and cutting up blubber. So that to a dog's nose each book smelt and tasted perfectly delicious. As fast as one dog closed his hungry jaws on a book, another dog, snarling and yowling, would try to snatch it from him. Over and over in the aisles and between the pews they rolled, snapping and tearing at one another. For the sake of meat they would do murder any day--and the fact that it was in a church on Sunday meant nothing to Long Jim's idle, hungry pack. "Go on, now! Git outa here!" Long Jim laid about him vigorously with the oar. Sharp yelps resounded as he thwacked their heads and legs. One dog took a header into the baptismal font, which was full of stale water. Another tried to climb under the little cabinet organ. But there were two dogs there already, and one of them bit him in the chest. He backed away, slobbering and raging. Another dog hid under the communion table, but Long Jim found him and kicked him away with his soft furry boots that did no damage to dog ribs. The leaders of the pack, Jock and Sandy, soared out of the window at the right. Jock landed on his head in the kitchen garden where the precious cabbages were growing behind high wooden palings. Sandy was more fortunate, and fell squarely on his feet. Both dogs began to gobble the soft green stuff just visible above the ground. The other dogs came after them, biting and tearing at each other even while they were scrambling across the window-sill. "Long Jim" ran out at the door, and had to tear down a lot of the stakes before he could drive the dogs out of the garden. When at last they went, most of the young and precious cabbages went with them. The garden looked like a mud-pile where children have been in a quarrel. "Ain't that a shame!" exclaimed Long Jim. "Them poor Moravian brothers worked so hard to git that garden goin'! I s'pose I gotta pay for them hymn-books an' them cabbages. Where I'm a-gonna git the money t' pay f'r it all, I'm blessed if I know! I guess I'll have to see if I can git the money from Dr. Grenfell till I get paid for my fish." Dr. Grenfell was in a cottage near by, visiting a patient. The sick man couldn't stir from his bed. A puff of wind blew the door open, just as the hungry pack of dogs came rushing up. Instantly Jock and Sandy halted, and sniffed a mighty, soul-satisfying sniff. Such a nice, sweet smell of dinner as was blown on the breeze from the door! Their whiskers twitched and their mouths watered. Then it was just as if Jock and Sandy said to the other dogs: "Well, what about it, boys? Shall we have some more fun? Are you hungry?" For the whole pack as though pulled by a string made a dash for the door and swept in on the Doctor and the sick man lying there.