Some are
covered with turf. The dwellings of our people in the north are much
more primitive. Each house has its low porch, a very necessary
addition in this land of "winter's frost and snowing."
Between the houses and in their porches lie many dogs. One of these
wolf-like creatures follows us over the rocks to the burial-ground,
and then runs off to fish on his own account. The dogs scour the shore
for miles in search of food, for, with the exception of those
belonging to our stores, they mostly have to forage for themselves.
They like seal and reindeer meat, but there are times when they can
get neither flesh nor fish. Then they turn vegetarians, spring over
the fences of the mission gardens and help themselves.
We enter the irregular enclosure, where lie the bodies of many, who
have fallen asleep during the hundred years that Hopedale has stood.
Here are some Eskimo graves with little headstones, bearing brief
inscriptions, but more mounds without identification. In one corner
lies a group of graves of touching interest--the missionaries and
their children--who have taken sepulchre possession here.
Thence our way lies along the shore.
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