"What do you want, Sammy?" said his mother, as he appeared at the door of one of the seal-skin tents. She was sitting on a bed of reindeer skins.
"I want needle and thread, mother. That Billy Blubber cut some holes in my kayah."
"Billy Blubber did?"
"Yes," said Sammy, "and I would like to sew him up in a seal-skin and drop him from the top of an iceberg into the sea."
"Tut, tut, Sammy. It's a boy's trick. Let it go."
"There," thought Sammy, shouldering his kayah and moving off, "that is what mother always says when Billy harms me."
"Where are you going, Sammy?"
"Off to mend my kayah, mother."
"Nonsense! Only women can mend kayahs. I will fix it. You go off and take a walk, and then come to dinner. We are going to have a young seal."
A seal! Wasn't that nice? Who wouldn't be a young Greenlander, own a kayah, and have seal for dinner? The prospect before Sammy made him feel better. The world, too, looked different.