"Lobsters prefer stones," said Andrew. "I don't think there are any here, but we'll see, if you get hold of the buoy. Anyhow, it will let me stop paddling and throw some water out."
He headed across the channel, and Whitney, crouching on deck, seized the ring of corks. The punt swung round sharply with her bow to the stream and there was an angry splash against her planks. Whitney was glad to ease the strain on his arms by making fast the wet line.
"The tide's running strong," he said.
Andrew nodded.
"The buoy's not on a lobster creel or we'd have pulled it up. I wonder what depth there is?"
He pushed down the double-ended paddle, which, as used in shooting punts, is about nine feet long, and touched bottom when it was wet half-way up. Then he held the blade against the stream until the punt sheered across the channel, dragging the line with her, when he tried again. This time he could not find bottom.
"It looks as if the corks are meant to mark a corner of the bank," he said. "In a way, that's curious, because fishermen don't often bother about a buoy. They know the ground and are satisfied with sounding with an oar."
Andrew began to bail her out, and Whitney and Dick sat on the after deck while he caught the water which ran toward them in the bailing can.
"What about the geese?" Whitney asked.
"The man mentioned bernicle and I'd expect to find them on the outer end of the flat, because it's soft ground and bernicle get their food in the mud. Besides, I'd like to see how this channel runs as the sands dry; there's more water than I thought. Suppose we leave the punt and walk down the edge? As it's lower than the top of the bank, we'd be out of sight."