“Is that you, father?” he called.
“Iss, Donald!” came an answering hail from directly opposite. “Is there a small pan of ice on your side?”
Donald searched up and down the edge for a detached cake large enough for his purpose. Near at hand he came upon a thin, small pan, not more than six feet square.
“Haste, b’y!” cried his father.
“They’s one here,” he called back, “but ’tis too small! Is there none there?”
“No, b’y! Fetch that over!”
Here was a desperate need. If the lad was to meet it, he must act instantly and fearlessly. He stepped out on the pan, and pushed off with his gaff.
Using his gaff as a paddle—as these gaffs are constantly used in ferrying by the Newfoundland fishermen—and helped by the wind, he soon ferried himself to where Job North stood waiting with his companions.
“’Tis too small,” said Stevens. “’Twill not hold two.”