“Of course, where the line has been down longest,” said Will. “See how the tide flows.”
“Does it?” responded Dick, staring.
“Yes; can you see that Josh has to pull harder with one oar than with the other, or else we should be carried right away from the buoy? The line’s set right across the tide.”
“Is it? Why?”
“So as to be ready for the fish that come up with the tide to feed. Look at that.”
“Why, it rains,” cried Dick. “No, it don’t. Why, the water’s all of a patter. It’s fish rising.”
“Little school o’ mack’rel,” said Josh. “They’ll be seeing o’ them from up the cliff bime-by.”
“And does a school of mackerel always play about on the top like that?” said Dick, watching the dappled water where the fish were swimming close to the surface.
“Not it, lad. They’re oftener down below. Look at the mews coming after ’em.”
He nodded in the direction of half a dozen grey gulls which came flapping towards them, and as the school passed off to the left and the boat bore to the right Dick could see the flap-winged birds keep dipping down with a querulous cry, splash the water, and ascend again.