The paying out of the nets seemed to Sandie and the Skyemen, who acted as his mates, like mere child’s play.
But some time afterwards, when these nets came to be hauled in again, nobody found it such easy work. It made even Sandie’s arms ache.
“I think, John,” said Sandie, “we are going to have a good haul this time.”
“And thank the Lord for a’ His goodness,” responded little John piously.
“Haul away, men,” he cried, as the Skyemen stopped for a moment to blow on their hands.
“Haul away it is,” was the answering call, and up came the net.
“A miraculous draught!” cried John joyfully, as he saw the silver mass moving in the boat’s well or bottom. “Why, Sandie M‘Crae, I believe it’s a’ your luck.”
Again and again were the nets launched, again and again were they hauled up well filled.
And now supper was placed upon the boards. And a right hearty supper all hands made too, although there was nothing stronger to drink than excellent coffee and milk served out in mugs.
But a fire had been lit over some stones, and in a huge frying-pan herrings were cooked. Neither the salt, the pepper, the bread nor the butter had been forgotten, and that meal, eaten on the bosom of the rolling deep, long past the midnight hour, was one of the most enjoyable Sandie could remember ever having partaken of.