SAMMY SEALSKIN'S ENEMY.
"Where going, Sammy Sealskin?".
"Down to my kayah, Tommy Fishscales."
"Is there any fish to-day?"
"A few, they say, but there is lots of seals--plenty of 'em on the rocks
in the bay."
"All right; bring home something to your friend, Tommy."
Sammy pushed off his kayah from shore. It was a funny sort of boat,
according to our notions. It was only nine inches deep, and about a foot
and a half wide in the middle, tapering to a point at either end and
curving upward. It was about sixteen feet long. Its frame was of very
light wood, and this was covered with tanned seal-skin. Sammy's mother
was a Greenlander, and she could sew on seal-skin very handily, using
sinews for thread; and she had covered her little boy's boat with
seal-skin, leaving a hole in the centre just large enough to receive
Sammy.
When he had dropped into his place, he then laced the lower border of
his jacket to the rim of the hole, and there he was all snug--not a drop
of water could get in. Grasping his single oar, about six feet long,
with a paddle at either end, and flourishing it in the water right and
left, away swept the young fisherman.
"I should think his craft would be top-heavy, and over he would go,"
says some reader.
One naturally would think his craft would be top-heavy and over he would
go, as the kayah has no keel and carries no ballast, and if we should
try a kayah, it would certainly be on land.
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