"Better, I hope?"
"A great deal better. There is nothing much pleasanter than a dish of long clams that you have dug yourself. At least we think so."
"Because you have got them yourself!"
"No; but I suppose that helps."
"So you get them by digging?"
"Yes. It is funny work. The clams are at the edge of the water, where the rushes grow, in the mud. We go for them when the tide is out. Then, in the blue mud you see quantities of small holes as big as a lead pencil would make; those are the clam holes."
"And what then?"
"Then we dig for them; dig with a hoe; and you must dig very fast, or the clam will get away from you. Then, if you get pretty near him he spits at you."
"I suppose that is a harmless remonstrance."
"It may come in your face."