Approaching was an old shepherd in native homespuns, his face a wind-toughened field of furrows crisscrossed with wrinkles, which drew together around a thin slit of mouth pressed against toothless gums.  Radko broke into a run, crying:
    "It is you, Uncle Demetry!  You came to meet me!"
    His own features with America frankness reflected the liveliness of his emotions, but Uncle Demetry's remained fixed and grim, like the Balkan mountain ridges, even after his nephew had thrown his arms around the old man.
    "So you are Radko—Sonia's son—my sister's son!" said he, as they started on toward the village.  His shrewd little eyes took deliberate account of Radko's American shoes, with their bulging toes, and his soft hat with crown rolled in, and the pattern of ready-made suit which was the reigning popular style from Maine to California.  "You are dressed worse than the clerks in Sofia!" Uncle Demetry concluded.  "But you've grown big—big as your father was. (Scribner's Monthly Magazine, v.13, 1914)