She does not rise to greet her visitors, nor does it occur to her to offer a seat.  What shall she offer?  A box?  As with the rest of those visited, her welcome takes the form of a good-humoured laugh.  One or two objects in her room testify to a refinement unusual for this station.  A guitar hangs on the wall near a cage with a bird in it, and against the partition stands a piano.  Fancy such an instrument in a low turf hut, even though it be but an old square piano!  Here, as elsewhere, we speak a few words of kindly greeting and spiritual interest, and then take leave with “Aksunai.”

The occupant of the next hut is not at home.  This is indicated by two great slabs of slate, one at the entrance to his porch and one over his front (and only) window.  These are more for protection against prowling dogs than dishonest men.

Now we come to the dwelling of the oldest couple, William and Hulda, whose heathen names were Nochasak and Aksuana.  They are, respectively, fifty-five and fifty, but look older.  Two sons live with them, of whom the elder is married.  Both parents are at home, and the daughter-in-law with her first baby in her arms.  Here first I notice the curious lamp, a sort of dish hollowed out in a soft stone.  The wick is a kind of moss which floats in seal-oil, and gives a feeble flame apparently more for warmth than for light, for the houses are not dark.

Next to William’s stand the roofless remains of an unoccupied dwelling, which may serve to show how these huts are built.  It is a square enclosure three or four feet in height; the back is dug out of the sloping bank, the front wall is built up with turf.  Put a roof over this and your house will be made.  Two upright posts in the middle, about seven feet in height, will serve as the supports for the frame of your roof, which will also be covered with turf.  The low door must be in front, facing the bay, and, both for warmth and as a shelter for the dogs, must invariably be protected by a low covered porch.  Whether he be dwelling in his turf hut or sheltering in some snow hut, quickly built for a night away from home, the Eskimo enters his abode by a little tunnel, at the further end of which is the door.  Just above this comes the window-frame, sometimes on a slant, better perpendicular.  The window of his turf hut is semi-transparent seal bladder unless the owner of the mansion can afford and obtain glass.  Now your house is complete, but lacks interior fittings.  If you are an Eskimo, you do not want many.  Your two poles supporting the roof may help you to partition off the sleeping places, either with boards or with curtains.  These are raised about a foot from the ground, and the edge of the bed is the general seat.