In writing this little book, it has been our constant aim to make it, as nearly as possible, an autobiography, giving Miss Krarer's own thoughts and words, avoiding some of the little errors, caused by her imperfect knowledge of English, which are thought by some to add a certain charm to her conversation. If, near the conclusion, I may seem to have departed from this plan, it is only because she desired me to attempt the expression of her thought in more elaborate language than she can herself,

I was born in Greenland, on the east coast. I am the youngest of eight children. My three sisters and four brothers are all living in Iceland. My father is living in Manitoba. My mother died in Iceland when I was sixteen years old. We lived near the sea-shore in Greenland. Our house was built of snow. It was round, perhaps sixteen feet across, and coming to a point at the top. It was lined with fur on all sides, and was carpeted with a double thickness of fur. The way they lined the house was to

On Iceland's damp and stormy shore, Mid Geyser's throe and Ocean's roar, A sturdy race on sterile soil, Pursue their unremitting toil; Struggling against stern poverty, And Denmark's hostile mastery. Farther northward, bleak and cold, Bound by Winter's icy hold, Where eternal snows abound,-- There the Esquimaux is found. House of ice and suit of fur; Food, the flesh of polar bear; Tusks of walrus, the only arm, Ferocious beasts alone alarm; A dog-sleigh ride his only pleasure; A piece of flint h