"Well, I'm glad to hear that," said the cap'n. "Women-folks are apt to
be dreadful scared of a wetting; but I'd just as lief not get wet
myself. I had a twinge of rheumatism yesterday. I guess we'll get
ashore fast enough. No. I feel well enough to-day, but you can row if
you want to, and I'll take the oars the last part of the way."

When we reached the moorings the clouds were black, and the thunder
rattled and boomed over the sea, while heavy spatters of rain were
already falling. We did not go to the wharves, but stopped down the
shore at the fish-houses, the nearer place of shelter. "You just select
some of those cunners," said the captain, who was beginning to be a
little out of breath, "and then you can run right up and get under
cover, and I'll put a bit of old sail over the rest of the fish to keep
the fresh water off." By the time the boat touched the shore and we had
pulled it up on the pebbles, the rain had begun in good earnest. Luckily
there was a barrow lying near, and we loaded that in a hurry, and just
then the captain caught sight of a well-known red shirt in an open door,
and shouted, "Halloa, Danny! lend us a hand with these fish, for we're
nigh on to being shipwrecked." And then we ran up to the fish-house and
waited awhile, though we stood in the doorway watching the lightning,
and there were so many leaks in the roof that we might almost as well
have been out of doors. It was one of Danny's quietest days, and he
silently beheaded hake, only winking at us once very gravely at
something our other companion said.

"There!" said Captain Sands, "folks may say what they have a mind to; I
didn't see that shower coming up, and I know as well as I want to that
my wife did, and impressed it on my mind. Our house sets high, and she
watches the sky and is al'ays a worrying when I go out fishing for fear