“Will you please be still!” she exclaimed as the bell buoy clanged louder than ever as a great swell came sweeping in from the sea.
The bell did not keep still. Ding-dong, Ding-dong, Ding-dong, it spoke of cliffs and shallows and of a channel between that was safe, wide and deep.
The girl gave her attention to fishing. Cunners took her bait. She caught a small one, but threw him back. A great old cod, red with iodine from the kelp, gave her a thrill. He snapped at her bait, snagged on the hook, then shook himself free.
“Go it!” she exclaimed. “What’s cod beside chicken halibut? Wouldn’t—”
She broke short off. The ding-dong of that buoy bell never had sounded so near before.
Ding-dong, Ding-dong. It seemed to be at her very side. She gave a pull at her anchor line.
“Fast enough,” she told herself. “Not drifting toward the buoy. Besides, wouldn’t drift that way. Tide’s setting out.”
The big red cod or another of his sort claimed her attention. She teased him by bobbing bait up and down. She loaded the hook with juicy clams and tried again. This time it seemed that success must crown her efforts. The fish was hooked. She began reeling in.
“A beauty!” she whispered as a great red head appeared close to the surface. And then, with a last mighty effort, the fish tore himself free.
“Oh!” she cried, “You—”