"Then we can fish."
"Oh, yes, Friday, I hadn't thought of that! Get the lines out, and we may catch some for supper."
There was one thing they were rather short of, namely, spirits for the stove; but they contrived a regular gipsy-fire of wood, with stones so arranged that they could place a saucepan over the glowing embers. Toddie brought her picture-books down to the rocks, and the boys began to fish.
Fishing is a dreamy kind of employment anyhow, so it is no wonder the time flew fast away.
"Oh, isn't all this jolly!" said Friday, as he pulled in his fifth grey mullet. "Now, massa, how nice it would be to stay here a month, if we could only catch a seagull and send it home with a message."
"That would be glorious. But see, Friday, the sun is nearly down. What lovely colours!"
"Now for supper," cried Frank
The fire was soon made, and the fish were roasted as Indians cook their fish, by attaching them to a sloping wood grating close to the dying embers.
"It is a supper worth being shipwrecked twenty times for," remarked Fred.
This sentiment was agreed to by his friend, and seconded by the little queen.