Steve was a characteristic livyere, shiftless and ambitionless. He
lived a few miles down the inlet with his widowed mother and his
younger brothers and sisters. For a week he would work hard and
conscientiously to support the family, and then take a month's
rest. We had happened upon him in one of his resting periods, but
as soon as Hubbard had pinned him down to an agreement he put in an
immediate plea for money.

"I'se huntin' grub, sir," he begged. "I has t' hunt grub all th'
time, sir. Could 'un spare a dollar t' buy grub, sir?"

Hubbard gave him the dollar, and he forthwith proceeded to the
trader's hut to purchase flour and molasses, which, with fat salt
pork, are the great staples of the Labrador natives, although the
coast livyeres seldom can afford the latter dainty. While we were
preparing to start, Hubbard asked Steve what he generally did for a
living.

"I hunts in winter an' fishes in summer, sir," was the reply.

"What do you hunt?

"Fur an' partridges, sir. I trades the fur for flour and molasses,
sir, an' us eats th' partridges."

"What kind of fur do you find here?"

"Foxes is about all, sir, an' them's scarce; only a chance one,
sir."