Bob Gray was very proud of his little chum when, one beautiful September day, his boat ground its prow upon the sands at Wolf Bight, and with all the strength and vigour of youth she bounded ashore and ran to meet the expectant and happy parents.

As, with full hearts, the reunited family of Richard Gray walked up the path to the cabin, Bob said reverently: 

“Th’ Lard has ways o’ doin’ things that seem strange an’ wonderful hard sometimes when He’s doin’ un; but He always does un right, an’ a rare lot better’n we could plan.”

XXVIII

IN AFTER YEARS

During the twenty years that have elapsed since the incidents transpired that are here recorded, the mission doctors and the mission hospitals have come to The Labrador to give back life and health to the unfortunate sick and injured folk of the coast, who in the old days would have been doomed to die or to go through life helpless cripples or invalids for the lack of medical or surgical care, as would have been the case with little Emily but for the efforts of her noble brother.  New people, too, have come into Eskimo Bay, though on the whole few changes have taken place and most of the characters met with in the preceding pages still live.

Douglas Campbell in the fullness of years has passed away.  But he is not forgotten, and in the spring-time loving hands gather the wild flowers, which grow so sparsely there, and scatter them upon the mossy mound that marks his resting place.

Ed Matheson to this day tells the story of the adventures of Ungava Bob—­as Bob Gray has thenceforth been called—­not forgetting to embellish the tale with flights of fancy; and of course Dick Blake warns the listeners that these imaginative variations are “just some o’ Ed’s yarns,” and Bob laughs at them good-naturedly.

It may be asked to what use Bob put his newly acquired wealth, and the reader’s big sister should this book fall into her hands, will surely wish to know whether Bob and Bessie married, and what became of Manikawan.  But these are matters that belong to another story that perhaps some day it may seem worth while to tell.

For the present, adieu to Ungava Bob.