When my mother was a little girl she would sneak up to the attic where, in the far corner under the dusty window, she would open a steamer trunk that held a feather boa — a horrid black and grey thing that to a child looked just like a real boa constrictor. With her heart beating madly she would grab the loathsome thing by one end and shake it furiously, causing it to undulate along its length, stirring up clouds of dust . . . Shrieking with fear and delight, she would slam the trunk lid down and flee the attic, quivering with excitement. Mum scared the bejesus out of herself every time she did this . . . but she always felt good after shaking the feather boa. I, too, always felt good after a hair-raising adventure . . . as I remember my adventures I recollect the thrill and apprehension of the moment. I have always thought of them as 'shaking the feather boa'. From his early childhood Ted Burton displayed a special talent for adventure. In this last instalment of his memoirs, Ted recounts in colourful detail his most exciting exploits and the many characters he encountered during his boyhood and throughout his long career as a crown attorney in northern Ontario.