There were no overhanging boughs near Arthur, and no trees; but when he threw in his line the lead had gone into a rock-pool, the hook had stopped in a patch of sea-weed on a rock high and dry, and the bait of squid was being nicely cooked and frizzled in the sun.
“I think it wants a new bait,” said our fisherman at last very importantly; and, drawing in the line, the lead came with a bump up against the side of the boat, while the bait was dragged through the water, and came in thoroughly wet once more.
“I thought so,” said Arthur complacently as he examined the shrunken bait. “Something has been at it and sucked all the goodness away. I wish that fisher-boy was here to put on a fresh one.”
But that fisher-boy was right in the cavern, so Arthur had to put on a fresh bait himself. This done, and very badly too, he took the line in hand once more, stood up on the thwart, spreading his legs wide apart to steady himself, because the boat rocked; and then, after giving the heavy lead a good swing, sent it off with a thrill of triumph, which rapidly changed to a look of horror, accompanied by a yell of pain.
“Oh! oh! oh! oh!” cried Arthur. “My leg! my leg! my leg! Oh! help! help! help!” and sitting down in the boat he began to drag in the line rapidly, as he thoroughly realised the fact that he had caught a very large and a very odd fish this time.
Note: Zorn, the Cornish name for a sea-cave.