“Want to fish?” called out Amos as the two little girls came near the boat and watched him bait his hooks with clams which he had dug and brought with him.
“Oh, yes,” said Anne; “do you think I could catch enough for Uncle Enos’s supper?”
“Yes, if you’ll hurry,” answered the boy; “climb in over the bow.”
The barefooted children splashed through the shallow curl of the waves on the beach, and clambered over the high bow of the dory. Amos baited their lines, and with a word of advice as to the best place to sit, he again turned to his own fishing and soon pulled in a big, flopping, resisting flounder.
“The tide isn’t right,” he declared after a few minutes when no bite came to take the bait. “I’m going to cast off and pull a little way down shore over the flats. They’ll be sure to bite there. You girls sit still. You can troll your lines if you want to. You may catch something.”
So Anne and Amanda sat very still while Amos sprang ashore, untied the rope from the stout post sunk in the beach, pushed the boat into deeper water, and jumped in as it floated clear from the shore.
It was a big, clumsy boat, and the oars were heavy; but Amos was a stout boy of twelve used to boats and he handled the oars very skilfully.
“The tide’s just turning,” he said; “’twill take us down shore without much rowing.”
“But ’twill be hard coming back,” suggested Amanda.
“Pooh! Hard! I guess I could row through any water in this harbor,” bragged Amos, bending to his oar so lustily that he broke one of the wooden thole-pins, unshipped his oar, and went over backward into the bottom of the boat, losing his hold on the oar as he fell. He scrambled quickly back to his seat, and endeavored to swing the dory about with one oar so that he could reach the one now floating rapidly away. But he could not get within reach of it.