“No, no,” he said, while Sarah Quintal assisted to get out the bait and Bessy Mills to arrange the line. “No, no, we don’t want no idlers here. You be off to the rocks, Matt and Dan, an’ see what you can catch. Remember, he who won’t work shall not eat. There should be lots o’ crawfish about, or you might try for a red-snapper. Now, be off, both of you.”
“Ay, ay, father,” replied the youths, pushing off and swimming shoreward rather unwillingly.
“I don’t feel much inclined to go after crawfish or red-snappers to-day, Matt, do you?” asked Dan, brushing the curls out of his eyes with his right hand.
“No, not I; but we’re bound to do something towards the dinner, you know.”
At that moment there was a loud shouting and screaming from the canoe. They looked quickly back. Adams was evidently struggling with something in the water.
“He has hooked something big,” cried Matt; “let’s go see.”
Dan said nothing, but turned and made for the canoe with the speed of a porpoise. His companion followed.
Adams had indeed hooked a large cod, or something like it, and had hauled it near to the surface when the youths came up.
“Have a care. He bolts about like a mad cracker,” cried Adams. “There, I have him now. Stand clear all!”
Gently did the seaman raise the big fish to the surface, and very tenderly did he play him, on observing that he was not well hooked.