It was on his last cruise south late one fall, and not long before navigation closed, that Doctor Grenfell learned that a family of liveyeres encamped on one of the coastal islands was in a destitute condition, without food and practically unsheltered and unclothed.

He went immediately in search, steaming nearly around the island, and discerning no sign of life he had decided that the people had gone, when a little curl of smoke rising from the center of the island caught his eye.  He at once brought his vessel to, let go the anchor, lowered away a boat and accompanied by his mate pulled ashore.  Making the boat fast the two men scrambled up the rocks and set out in the direction from which they had seen the smoke rise.

Near the center of the island they suddenly brought up before a cliff, against which, supported by poles, was stretched a sheet of old canvas, pieced out by bits of matting and bagging, to form the roof of a lean-to shelter.  In front of the lean-to a fire burned, and under the shelter by the fire sat a scantily clad, bedraggled woman.  In her arms she held a bundle of rags, which proved to envelop a tiny new born baby, nursing at her breast.

A little girl of five, barefooted and ragged, slunk timidly back as the strangers approached.  The woman grunted a greeting, but did not rise.

“Where is your man?” asked Doctor Grenfell.

“He’s right handy, huntin’ gulls,” she answered.

Upon inquiry it was learned that there were three boys in the family and that they were also “somewheres handy about.”  A search discovered two of them, lads of seven and eight, practically naked, but tough as little bears, feeding upon wild berries.  Their bodies were tanned brown by sun and wind, and streaked and splotched with the blue and red stain of berry juice.  They were jabbering contentedly and both were as plump and happy in their foraging as a pair of young cubs.

Snow had begun to fall before Doctor Grenfell followed by the two lads returned to the fire at the cliff, soon to be joined by the boys’ father, tall, gaunt and bearded.  His hair, untrimmed for many weeks, was long and snarled.  He was nearly barefooted and his clothing hung in tatters.  In one hand he carried a rusty old trade gun, (a single-barreled, old-fashioned muzzle loading shotgun), in the other he clutched by its wing a gull that he had recently shot.  Following the father came an older lad, perhaps fourteen years of age, little better clothed than his two brothers and as wild and unkempt in appearance as the father.

“Evenin’,” greeted the man, as he leaned his gun against the cliff and dropped the gull by its side.

It was cold.  The now thickly falling snow spoke loudly of the Arctic winter so near at hand.  The liveyere and his family, however, seemed not to feel or mind the chill in the least, and apparently gave no more thought to the morrow or the coming winter, upon whose frigid threshold they stood, than did the white-winged gulls flying low over the water.