But malignant disease in his hip was sapping his strength, just as the ants of Africa will eat away a leg of furniture till it is a hollow shell, and one day the whole table or chair falls crashing. His strength was ebbing fast. Suddenly he became very ill: he was put to bed, with high fever, and was often unconscious. In a week he was dead. But that little generous, courageous life was the foundation-stone of Dr. Grenfell's noble orphanage at St. Anthony, put up with the pennies of American children, where I had the pleasure of telling dog-stories to smiling Eskimo boys in the summer of 1919. Gabriel is the angel of comfort: and this small Gabriel has left behind him the comfort of fatherless homes in Labrador for ages yet to be. Dr. Grenfell says that on the night of his passing the heavens were aflame with the aurora. It was as though little Prince Pomiuk's father had come to welcome him, and they were at play once more in the old games they knew. VIII CAPTURED BY INDIANS In the lonely interior of Labrador in midsummer an old man sat on the rocky ground with a ring of Indians about him. He was "Labrador" Cabot of Boston. Year after year he had gone to Labrador to visit the Indian tribes and study their ways. He could talk the Indian language and understand what they said to him. "What's the matter with your leg?" asked the Chief, a big, strong fellow with keen eyes. "Can't you walk? We must get started if we want to find the deer." "I think I must have broken my leg when I slipped and fell on the rocks," answered Mr. Cabot. He made an effort to rise and stand, but sank back helplessly. A curious, evil grin spread across the red man's face. "You're sure you can't walk?" Mr. Cabot shook his head. "What will you do?" "One thing is sure," said Mr. Cabot, "I'll have to stay with you if I'm to get out of this place alive." "We can't let you keep us back," answered the Indian. "We might leave you here with a fire and something to eat." "And what would I do after the fire went out, and the food was gone?" The Indian shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know." "Can't some of your men make a litter of boughs and carry me?" pleaded Mr. Cabot. "They could if they wanted to," answered the Indian, coldly. "But I don't think they want to." "Haven't we always been friends?" urged Mr. Cabot. "I suppose so." "Haven't I been here summer after summer, and helped you, and given medicine to sick people?" The Indian picked up handfuls of sand and threw them on the fire. "Yes, and you were always writing in a little book. Maybe when you went away from here you told lies to the world about us. Who knows?" Mr. Cabot was puzzled. Was this the friendly, peaceful Chief he knew before he had the misfortune to fall and hurt his leg? In spite of the pain he was suffering, he tried to talk calmly and not show that he was afraid of being left behind. "Why have you turned against me?" "What do you mean?" the Indian chief answered.