arms relaxed. Then he laid her gently down beside Dick. He shifted
forward, moving like a crab. Then he put his hand to his pocket for
his pipe and tobacco and tinder box. They were in his coat pocket,
but Emmeline was in his coat. To search for them would be to
awaken her.

The darkness of night was now adding itself to the blindness of
the fog. The oarsman could not see even the thole pins. He sat
adrift mind and body. He was, to use his own expression,
"moithered." Haunted by the mist, tormented by "shapes."

It was just in a fog like this that the Merrows could be heard
disporting in Dunbeg bay, and off the Achill coast. Sporting and
laughing, and hallooing through the mist, to lead unfortunate
fishermen astray.

Merrows are not altogether evil, but they have green hair and
teeth, fishes' tails and fins for arms; and to hear them walloping
in the water around you like salmon, and you alone in a small
boat, with the dread of one coming floundering on board, is enough
to turn a man's hair grey.

For a moment he thought of awakening the children to keep him
company, but he was ashamed. Then he took to the sculls again,
and rowed "by the feel of the water." The creak of the oars was
like a companion's voice, the exercise lulled his fears. Now and
again, forgetful of the sleeping children, he gave a halloo, and
paused to listen. But no answer came.

Then he continued rowing, long, steady, laborious strokes, each