Maxwelton’s braes are bonnie,
Where early fa’s the dew——”
“Oh, I know that,” said Ben.
“Yes, we know the rest of that, Jo. It is ‘Annie Laurie,’ an old Scotch song, and it goes on like this,” and Ann took up the song where Jo had been interrupted.
“That’s the one! That’s the one!” cried Jo happily. Then he stopped suddenly. “Hey! Here’s my first buoy, and I came near running it down.”
Ben peered after the block of green and yellow that Jo had just missed striking. “However do you manage to come away out here and hit a little block of wood floating in the middle of the ocean?”
“That’s easy. I do it every morning,” Jo answered. “And I don’t generally pass it by, as I was going to do to-day.”
He turned the dory in a wide circle and just before reaching the buoy he shut off his engine and coasted alongside. Seizing a short boat book that lay beside him on the thwart he deftly caught the rope attached to the buoy and began to haul it in. Yard after yard ran through his hands until finally it began to pull harder, as if a heavy load were attached to it.
“Here she comes,” he said.
The huge wooden crate swung up beside the boat. Jo opened the catch at the top and threw up the swinging lid. Then he began to take out the lobsters. They were green and shining, with big claws waving frantically in their effort to catch Jo’s fingers. One, two, three, and four he fished out of the crate. The last was a small one and he threw it back into the water.