The closing ceremony was a most touching one. After "Papa" had returned from the grave, Armow went out of doors and brought in a piece of frozen something that it is not polite to specify further than that the dogs had entirely done with it, and with it he touched every block of snow in a level with the beds of the igloo. The article was then taken out of doors and tossed up in the air to fall at his feet, and by the manner in which it fell he could joyfully announce that there was no liability of further deaths in camp for some time to come. The wind was from the east Saturday, and a little better for hunting, so the men were off bright and early. About noon there was a joyful sound in camp. The women and children ran into our igloo shouting "Iviek seleko" (walrus killed), and fairly jumped up and down in their joy. I think the veriest stoic would have at least smiled. I know I laughed and said "good," though I tried to look dignified and unconcerned. Thank God, the danger was over, for the present at least, and I should be able to start for Marble Island in a day or two. It was not until the 17th, however, that I got away at last, as no sledges could move or the dogs be fed during the four days succeeding the death of "Papa's" wife. According to the Inuit belief, an infringement of this custom would cause a fearful mortality that I did not care to become responsible for, and had to wait patiently until the gods of the walrus and seal were satisfied that due respect had been paid to the memory of the departed.