When we left the place he seemed more cheerful, though still very pale, and Mary promised to come again to see him. He belongs to a party of three men bound for Koyuk River. The young man who sings so well sometimes at the Mission is one of the three, but the other I have not yet seen.
Later on Mary and I called upon Alice, the Eskimo girl, who lives with her mother, near the hotel, and who is suffering with quinsy. I found Jennie and Charlie there, and took them out for a walk down on the beach, where the little girl's aunt was cutting ice. As we passed the A. E. Store I noticed a dog lying on the porch having a bloody mouth, but as he lay quietly I did not think much about it. After we had passed down the trail for a block or so, I heard a commotion behind us, and looking back saw a young man rush out into the trail and shoot a dog, the one, as I afterwards learned, that I had seen on the porch. It had been mad, and snapping around all day, but the men could not find it earlier, and the two little children and I had passed within a few feet of it without being conscious of danger.
Mr. H. came in to supper, also two others from the camp of the shipwrecked people, thirty miles away to the east of us. At supper one of the men offered to stake some claims for us over near their camp, where they think there is gold. They took our names on paper, and said that after prospecting, if they found gold, they would let us into the strike before any others. They will remain over night, and leave early in the morning. Mr. H. and Mary called after supper to see the man who was bitten by the mad dog, and found him looking better, and not so worried as this morning. His friend was playing on the banjo, and all were sitting quietly around the fire.
Monday, December twenty-fourth: The two boys, G. and B., came in late last evening, tired and hungry, from the Nome trail, glad to arrive at home in time for Christmas.
Early this morning Mary dressed herself up hideously as Santa Claus, bringing a big box of presents in while we sat at the breakfast table and distributing them. Of course there were the regulation number of fake packages, containing funny things for the boys, but each one had a present of something, and I had a souvenir spoon just from Nome, an ivory paper knife of Eskimo make from the girls, and later a white silk handkerchief.
Going into the sitting-room after breakfast, we were met by the fumes of burnt cork, hair or cotton, and upon inquiry were told that Santa Claus had had a little mishap; his whiskers had been singed by coming into contact with the lamp chimney and that it had delayed matters somewhat until Ricka, his assistant, could find more cotton on the medicine shelves; but the end of all was hearty laughter and a jolly good time; an effort to forget, for the present, the day in our own homes thousands of miles away.
This morning, before noon, all in the Mission went to the Home to the Christmas tree and exercises, leaving me alone to keep house, the first time this has happened in Alaska. Mr. H. had left the dog-teams, two reindeer, and three sleds, with which they were to drive over, and a merry party they were. When they had gone I worked for some time at getting the rooms in order, and making all as tidy and snug as possible, but I had no holly berries nor greens with which to decorate. All was snowy and white out of doors, and a cheerful fire inside was most to be desired. In the afternoon I gave Jennie her lesson as usual. I am invited to eat Christmas dinner tomorrow with Mollie, the captain and little Jennie, and shall accept. A good many in camp have been invited, I understand, and I am wondering what kind of a gathering it will be.
Tuesday, December twenty-fifth: Christmas Day, and I was alone in the Mission all night, so I had to build my own fires this morning. I did not get up until ten o'clock, as it was cold and dark, and I had nothing especial to do. There is plenty of wood and water, and everything in the house, so I do not have to go out of doors for anything.
By noon I had finished my work, put on my best dress, and sat down at the organ to play. I went over all the church music and voluntaries I could find at hand, read a number of psalms aloud, and as far as possible for one person I went through my Christmas exercises.
If a certain longing for things and people far away came near possessing me, I would not allow it to make me miserable, for longing is not necessarily unhappiness, and I had set my mind like a flint against being dissatisfied with my present state. With what knowledge I possess of the laws of auto-suggestion, I have so far since my arrival in Alaska managed the ego within most successfully, and tears and discontent are not encouraged nor allowed.