Suddenly there was a crash at the stern—the anchor had been lifted up and then banged down on the deck.
"What's that?" cried Fenella.
"They're proving the nets to see if the fish are coming," said Stowell, and hurrying aft together they found the water milky white and full of irridescent rays.
A couple of warps of the net were hauled aboard, and twelve or fifteen herring fell on to the deck. Fenella picked them up, wriggling, cheeping and twisting in her hands and threw them into a basket—she was in a fever of excitement.
After that several of the boats that were fishing alongside called across to know the result of the proving, and the Captain answered them in Manx, with the crude symbolism of the sea.
"Let me do it next time," said Fenella.
"Do you think you can, miss?" asked the Captain.
"She can do anything," said Stowell, and when the next boat called, Fenella (with Stowell to prompt her) stood ready to reply.
"R'ou promal, bhoy?" cried the voice out of the darkness.
"What's he saying? Quick!"