Sappers and Miners: The Flood beneath the Sea

“Have some more bass, Gwyn?”
“Please, father.”
“You should not speak with your mouth full, my dear,” said Mrs Pendarve, quietly.
“No, mother; but I didn’t like to keep father waiting.”
“And between the two stools you came to the ground, eh?” said Colonel Pendarve, smiling. “Never mind; hold your plate. Lucky for us, my dear, that we have only one boy. This fellow eats enough for three.”
“Well, but, father, we were down by the boat at daybreak, and the sea air makes one so hungry.”
“Say ravenous or wolfish, my boy. But go on. It certainly is a delicious fish, and Dolly has cooked it to a turn. They were rising fairly, then?”
“Yes, father; we rowed right out to the race, off the point, and for ever so long we didn’t see a fish and sat there with our rods ready.”
Gwyn talked away, but with his mouth rather full of fried bass and freshly-baked bread all the same.
“And of course it was of no use to try till a shoal began to feed.”
“Not a bit, father,—and Joe said we might as well come back; but when the sun rose they were breaking all round us, and for half-an-hour we kept hooking them at nearly every throw. Come and see the rest of my catch; they’re such beauties, as bright as salmon.”