The shores of the bay were very bold, and it was hardly necessary to use a pole in order to cast the line into deep water.
To the anxious fisherman it seemed as if the hook had hardly reached the surface before the bait was seized by a silvery fish, and a second later he had the first portion of his breakfast on shore.
“With three fellers like that I’ll have all I can eat this morning,” he said in a tone of satisfaction.
It surely seemed as if the fish of the bay were eager to accept his invitation to breakfast, and before one could have counted fifty he had a plentiful supply.
The task of cooking them was more difficult than the catching, because of his inexperience.
Instead of burying them among the ashes as he should have done, Ned could think of no other way than to toast the fish, by placing them on short sticks stuck in the sand near the blaze.
This was a tedious and unsatisfactory way of cooking, because while one portion was burning the opposite side of the fish was growing cold; but he succeeded after a certain fashion, and his hunger was appeased.
There was no especial reason why he should work very industriously, or, at least, he did not think there was, and he seated himself within the shade of the trees, remaining there until he fell asleep once more.
When he awakened again it was afternoon and time to think of getting supper.
“This won’t do,” he said ruefully. “I mustn’t go on simply eatin’ and sleepin’, otherwise when it storms I shall be badly left. I wonder if the queer clams I used for bait wouldn’t go well roasted? It won’t take so long to cook them, and perhaps I can yet make a good start on buildin’ a shanty.”