THE LONG TRAIL 



father would tell us ghost stories. The 

 smallest of us lay within reach of father 

 where we could touch him if the story be- 

 came too vivid for our nerves and we 

 needed the reassuring feel of his clothes 

 to bring us back to reality. There was, 

 however, a delicious danger in being too 

 near him. In stories in which the "haunt" 

 seized his victim, father generally illus- 

 trated the action by making a grab at the 

 nearest child. After the stories were fin- 

 ished we rolled up in our blankets and, 

 thoroughly permeated with sand, we slept 

 until the first faint light of dawn. Then 

 there was the fire to be built up, and the 

 breakfast cooked, and the long row home. 

 As we rowed we chanted a ballad, usually 

 of a seafaring nature; it might be "The 

 Rhyme of the Three Sealers," or "The 

 Galley Slave," or "Simon Danz." Father 

 taught us these and many more viva voce, 

 12 



