They bought some plaster-of-paris and mixed it with water until it became a thin paste. This they poured into a box, and when it began to set they laid the fish on its side in it, so that exactly one half of it was covered by the plaster. The fish had first been well oiled, so that the scales should not adhere to the mould. When the plaster was set and hard the fish was taken carefully out. Several holes about an inch deep were then bored in the plaster round the imprint of the fish. The plaster-cast was then well oiled, the fish laid in it, and more plaster poured in, until the fish was covered. When this in its turn had become hard it was taken off, and both sides of the fish were now represented in the mould. The holes which had been bored in the first mould, now had corresponding projections in the second mould. This was to insure accuracy of fit when the pieces were put together for the final cast. A hole was then bored through one side of the mould. The interior of it was well oiled, the pieces fitted together, and liquid plaster poured in through the hole. In a couple of hours the moulds were separated, and a perfect cast of the fish was the result. This Mary painted in water-colour to imitate the natural fish, and the final result was very creditable to all concerned.
While upon the subject of plaster casts, I must mention an occupation which the boys resorted to in the winter-time. Their collection of birds' eggs was almost as perfect as they could hope to make it for many years to come, but at Frank's suggestion they added to it, for additional perfection, a representation of the egg of every British bird. They made these eggs of plaster and coloured them very carefully, and varnished them with white of egg. These artificial eggs could not have been distinguished from real ones as they lay in the cabinet, but each egg was marked with a label, signifying that it was only a model. I recommend this plan to all students of ornithology.
CHAPTER XXX.
Eel-fishing.—Setting the Nets.—Elvers.—The Merivale Float.
One autumn day, when the ground was red with fallen leaves and the landscape was sodden with wet, the boys were busy in the boat-house with some of their numerous occupations, when the conversation turned upon eels and eel-fishing,—how that eels bred in the sea, and in the spring myriads of tiny eels came up the rivers; when the river was wide, ascending it in two columns, one by each bank, so thick together that you might scoop them out in bucketfuls,—and how, when they met with any obstruction, such as a weir or flood-gate, they will wriggle themselves over it; and it often happens that where it is dry they stick fast to it, and their companions make their way over them, and leave them to perish. In the autumn, too, the eels migrate to the sea in vast numbers, and are caught by means of nets placed across the river. Jimmy said,—
"I say, Frank, do you remember all those eel-nets we saw by Horning? They will be in full work now. I vote we sail down next Friday night and see them in operation."
"Very well," said Frank, "I don't think we could do better. We will get a half-holiday on Friday, so as to be there in good time."
Friday was wet and stormy, and the boys consulted as to the advisability of going. Frank said,—
"Let us go, as we have fixed to go. It may clear up, and if it does not, it doesn't much matter. We are used to getting wet, and it won't hurt us."