“That’s them, lad. That’s the school o’ mack’rel, and I shouldn’t wonder if they come right on the flat rock sand.”
“What—out of the water?”
“Out of the water? No. Not unless they are catched, and then they’ll come out of the water fast enough.”
“Look at that chap on the cliff!” cried Dick, as the man began waving what really were boughs of heather up and down.
“Yes, he’s signalling away to them in the boat. He can see the school. P’r’aps they can’t; and he’s telling ’em which way to row.”
“But what are they going to do?” cried Dick.
“Do? Why, try and catch that school of mack’rel. Can’t you see the seine?”
“What—the net?” said Dick.
“Yes; that’s it—hundreds of yards of it. Can you see which way the school’s going?”
“Right up to the head of the bay,” replied Will.