Then old Jonah laughed more than ever, and asked us if we thought salt water and sea-weed would make good soup.
"But," said he, "if you want to hear an old sailor's yarn, come down under the shelter of the fishing-boats to-morrow morning, when I'm mending my nets, and I'll tell you the story of the last time that bell rang."
"Did you ever see Mother Carey's chickens, Missy?" said old Jonah, as we sat down beside him, the next day.
"No," said Hilda, "we don't know many people here. Does Mother Carey live in one of the cottages near the shore?"
MOTHER CAREY'S CHICKENS.
Oh, how old Jonah laughed then!
"No, I couldn't tell you where she lives," he said; "nor who she is neither, for the matter of that."
"Did you ever see her chickens then, Jonah?" said I.
"Ay, many a time, my boy," he said. "I'll tell you what we sailors mean by Mother Carey's chickens. They are sea birds which come when there's going to be a storm, and fly low over the water. We never like to see them: we know there's bad weather coming when she sends her chickens out. I never knew Mother Carey send us so many chickens as she did on that afternoon I'm going to tell you about. My little lad and lass were playing on the beach, and they came running home to say they thought Mother Carey must be cleaning her hen-house, and had turned all her chickens out at once."