At 10 we are again summoned to the house of prayer by the bell. Mr. Dam is the preacher, and is evidently moved by the thought that this may be his last sermon in Eskimo for many a day. A hymn and a prayer, fervent and brief, precede the giving out of his text, Rev. i. 12-20. The sermon is listened to attentively by old and young, of whom considerably more than a hundred are present. Old Zippora is, as ever, at her place at the end of the bench. Blind though she is, she often walks miles to church over uneven ground or hummocky ice, when away at the fishing places. She seems to take her part in the worship of the sanctuary thoroughly, whether in response or sacred song, or as listener with animated face and at times an overflowing heart. While I am looking, her fingers seek the corner of her apron, and lifting it she wipes the tears from her sightless eyes. But the eloquent flow of words, mostly unintelligible to me, comes to a close. A hymn is sung, and the New Testament blessing pronounced. Then the procession from the missionary benches files out through the schoolroom into the mission-house and the people disperse to their homes. Mere mounds they look as I see them from my window. But they are Christian homes, whence rises prayer and praise. I was mistaken. The congregation had not dispersed, for the choir wished to give me a specimen of their powers. I returned to the church and listened to a fair selection of sacred music, including a long piece (Psalm xcv. 6, 7), well sustained by a choir of about a dozen men and women, and two or three instrumentalists. When they ceased, I spoke a few words of thanks and farewell. Dinner was as usual very literally "the mid-day meal." Soup was followed by a joint of reindeer venison, which was a treat to me, as beef or mutton would be to my hosts. The vegetables had been grown in the mission garden. After coffee I went over to the ship for the afternoon service aboard, rowed by four Eskimoes, Thomas, Clement, one of the organists, Daniel, and Heinrich. In their endeavour to converse with me they brought out some amusing scraps of English, and little Heinrich informed me his name in my language was "Harry."