“Why, of course—of course,” said Jiggins. “Why, so it is. What do you say, boys?”
“I say yis,” cried Pat. “Hurroo, boys! if we can’t have a duck, or a roaster, again, we’ll have clams.”
“Hand along a basket then, Sammy,” said Jiggins.
As Sammy gave him one, he said,—
“Now, you two, are you coming?”
“Well—no—we don’t care about it,” said Sammy.
“Well, you wait here and kindle the fire, and get a pot ready. We’ll cook them the moment we get back.”
“All right,” said the two boys.
Upon this Jiggins, and Muckle, and Pat started off after the clams. Before leaving the shore, they got some sticks to use for scraping up the sand, and then directed their steps toward the creek. The creek ran through the middle of the cove, and on each side of it the wide flats extended up to the shore. These, toward the lower part of the cove, were formed of soft mud, but at the upper part they consisted of sand, in which appeared a multitude of little holes, which are generally called breathing-holes, about these parts, under the impression that they serve this purpose for the clams. By digging where these little holes are seen, the clams may be found buried in the sand and mud.
Toward the upper place they walked rapidly and eagerly, and looked anxiously around for the “breathing-holes.”