Ben standing erect upon the raft, with the baited hook in his hand, looked down into the deep blue water.
Even the smallest fish could have been seen many fathoms below the surface, and far over the ocean.
William on the other side of the raft was armed with hook and line, and equally on the alert.
For a long time their vigil was unrewarded. No living thing came within view. Nothing was under their eyes save the boundless field of ultramarine,—beautiful, but to them, at that moment, marked only by a miserable monotony.
They had stood thus for a full hour, when an exclamation escaping from the lad, caused his companion to turn and look to the other side of the raft.
A fish was in sight. It was that which had drawn the exclamation from the boy, who was now swinging his line in the act of casting it out.
The ejaculation had been one of joy. It was checked on his perceiving that the sailor did not share it. On the contrary, a cloud came over the countenance of the latter on perceiving the fish,—whose species he at once recognised.
And why? for it was one of the most beautiful of the finny tribe. A little creature of perfect form,—of a bright azure blue, with transverse bands of deeper tint, forming rings around its body. Why did Ben Brace show disappointment at its appearance?
“You needn’t trouble to throw out your line, little Will’m,” said he, “that ere takes no bait,—not it.”
“Why?” asked the boy.