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About a bark boat and a volcano
Moominmamma was sitting on the front steps in the sun, rigging a model bark schooner. “One big sail on the mainmast, and one on the foremast, and several small three-cornered ones to the bowsprit, if I remember rightly,” she thought.
The rudder was a ticklish job, and the hold an odder one. Moominmamma had cut a tiny bark hatch, and when she laid it on, it fitted snugly and neatly over the hold.
“Just in case of a hurricane,” she said to herself with a happy sigh.
By her side on the steps, knees under chin, sat the