He had helped make the crooked streets.

And his mother had laughed and lived and died here, and his father's footprints had been in the white sands of the beach when tents dotted the shore like gulls.
When he stepped ashore, people stared at him and then greeted him.

He was unexpected.

And the surprise of his arrival added strength to the grip which men's hands gave him.

He had not heard voices like theirs down in the States, with a gladness in them that was almost excitement.
Small boys ran up to his side, and with white men came the Eskimo, grinning and shaking his hands.