Colin looked in and saw, as the foreman said, only half a dozen eggs left in the tray, while in the shallow water of the trough below were hundreds of tiny fish, like transparent tadpoles still fastened to the yolk of the egg. Some, which were just hatched, were less than three-quarters of an inch long, and scarcely able to move about in the water because of the great weight of the yolk about the center of their bodies. A few had consumed a large part of the sac.
"It'll take them about six weeks to get rid of the yolk," the foreman said, anticipating the boy's question, "and if they were in a natural stream
they would be able to look after themselves. We feed them tiny grubs and worms and small pieces of liver. From that time on it is merely a question of giving them the proper food and keeping the troughs clean. When they are five or six months old we set them free."
"Do you do any work except salmon hatching here?" Colin asked, as, after a morning spent in the station, they walked toward the pier.
"No," the foreman answered, "we distribute a million and a half young fish every year and that keeps us busy enough."
"Well," said Colin, shaking hands, "I'm ever so much obliged, and I really feel now as if I knew something about a hatchery. And I've had a share in one experiment, anyway!"
On his return to the cottage he found the professor getting out fishing-tackle.
"Going out again?" queried Colin.
"I thought you might like to try a little sport-fishing," was the answer; "you said you were going down to Santa Catalina, and you might as well get your hand in. You can stay over another day, can't you?"
"I suppose I could," Colin answered, "and I should like to catch a really big salmon with a