THEY were having a big dance at the roadhouse, and the large room was crowded with both adults and children. Many of the latter were imitating their elders in gyrating about the floor. The fox trot record which had been playing was finished, and little Harry Jonas, aged six, left his five-yearold partner and came over to where I was sitting.
"I just danced with Mary," he said proudly.
"Good for you!" I said. "How does she dance?"
"Fine!" he replied. "My girl's a good dancer."
"How do you like to dance with Florence [aged four]?" I queried.
"Oh," he answered with much disdain, "I dont like to dance with little girls."
Which goes to indicate that these little urchins of the Arctic are not so much different from children everywhere, except perhaps for an abnormal sophistication. Thus, when this same Harry Jonas hears Jack Hood swear he says sympathetically: "I can swear too, God damn it. You feel better when you swear, don't you?" And Little Kapuk, aged three and one-half, said to me in surprise one evening: "What? You live all alone? You got no woman to undress you?"
This sophistication derives no doubt from constant, intimate association with the children's elders. Almost as soon as they