Injun women canna make bread wi' th' Scotch lassies an' we
ne'er ha' a bit o' oatmeal or oat-cake. 'Tis bread, though. An' how
could ye live wi' th' Injuns? 'Tis bad enough t' bide here wi' na'
neighbours but th' greasy huskies an' durty Injuns comin' now an'
again, but we has some civilized grub t' eat--sugar an' molasses an'
butter, such as 'tis."
Sandy and Jamie plied Bob with all sorts of questions about Eskimo Bay
and his life with the Indians, and they did not fail to tell him a
good deal about Peterhead, their Scotland home, and both bewailed
loudly the foolish desire for adventure that had induced them to leave
it to be exiled in Ungava amongst the heathen Eskimos and Indians in a
land where "nine minths o' th' year be winter an' th' ither three
remainin' minths infested wi' th' worst plagues o' Egypt, referrin' t'
th' flies an' nippers (mosquitoes)."
Strange and new it all was, and while he ate and talked, Bob took in
his surroundings. The room was not unlike the Post kitchen at Eskimo
Bay, though not so spotlessly clean. Besides the table there were two
benches, four rough, home-made chairs and a big box stove that
crackled cheerily. At one side three bunks were built against the wall
and were spread with heavy woollen blankets.
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