“Fine!” exclaimed Bob. “I’ll tell you what,” he added, “I’ve got supper under way. Let me take those fish, and I’ll cook them, too, and get supper ready for all of us, while the rest of you catch the bait. Tom will come out and help you.”
Tim tossed the fish into the canoe, and Bob hastened ashore.
They were all out in the cove shortly, with lines down close to the muddy bottom, for flounders and sculpins. The tide, at half-flood, served them fortunately, and soon the fish began to come aboard. Then, when they had their catch, they rowed around to the wharf, dropping Henry Burns ashore near the Warren cottage.
The Spray was gone from harbour; but Henry Burns left word for the Warren boys to follow, in the morning, impressing the importance of secrecy on Mrs. Warren, with a solemnity as great as if they were going after hidden gold.
At the wharf, near the beach, a huge sort of coffee-mill was set up, which the mackerel fishermen used for grinding bait—but which had had no service thus far this year. Chopping the fish into pieces, they threw these into the mill, whence they dropped into a big wooden bucket, ground into a mess that might, as Little Tim remarked, look appetizing to a mackerel, but didn’t to him.
“There, we’ve got ‘chum’ enough,” said Harvey, when the bucket was two-thirds filled. “We’ll need the rest of the fish to bait the hooks. Come on, before any of the fishermen see what we are doing.”
They rowed around quickly to the camp, whence the odours of supper emerged, appetizingly. Bob had been as good as his word, and everything was ready. They sat about the opening of the tent, and did full justice to Bob’s cooking.
“Lucky it’s going to be a good night,” said Henry Burns, glancing off at the sea and sky. “Looks like a little breeze, doesn’t it, Jack?”
“I hope so,” replied Harvey. “We’ll start, anyway. It’s clear, and it won’t be like drifting about down off Loon Island, if we get becalmed.”
“Can’t stop to clean up dishes to-night,” said Bob, as he piled the stuff into the tent, as soon as they were finished. “We usually leave things more shipshape, don’t we, Tom?”