“No.”
“Oh, couldn’t I? Precious soon let you see.”
“Hi! Look there,” cried Bigley, “there’s father’s boat.”
“Where?” I said.
“Out yonder. He has been with Binnacle Bill to Swincombe, and that’s them coming back.”
“Why, you can’t see anything but a bit of sail,” cried Bob scoffingly, as he shaded his eyes and looked far-off into the west.
“No, but I know the shape of it,” cried Bigley. “There isn’t another boat hereabouts with a sail like that.”
“I don’t believe you know it,” cried Bob. “It’s a Frenchman, or a Dutchman, or a Welsh boat.”
“Well, you’ll see,” said Bigley decisively, and the matter dropped, for we were close up to the big rock now, a mass that stood about a dozen feet above the beach, and to our great delight there were several little pools about, all of which seemed to be well occupied by the toothsome delicacies we sought.
The baskets were set down and we were soon hard at work catching prawn after prawn; but, though we peered into every crack, and routed about as far as we could reach, there was no sign of a lobster large or small.