old schooner which was going to pieces alongside one of the ruined
wharves. We looked down the hatchway into the hold, and could see the
flounders and sculpin swimming about lazily, and once in a while a
little pollock scooted down among them impertinently and then
disappeared. "There is that same big flounder that we saw day before
yesterday," said I. "I know him because one of his fins is half gone. I
don't believe he can get out, for the hole in the side of the schooner
isn't very wide, and it is higher up than flounders ever swim. Perhaps
he came in when he was young, and was too lazy to go out until he was so
large he couldn't. Flounders always look so lazy, and as if they thought
a great deal of themselves."

"I hope they will think enough of themselves to keep away from my hook
this morning," said Kate, philosophically, "and the sculpin too. I am
going to fish for cunners alone, and keep my line short." And she
perched herself on the quarter, baited her hook carefully, and threw it
over, with a clam-shell to call attention. I went to the rail at the
side, and we were presently much encouraged by pulling up two small
cunners, and felt that our prospects for dinner were excellent. Then I
unhappily caught so large a sculpin that it was like pulling up an open
umbrella, and after I had thrown him into the hold to keep company with
the flounder, our usual good luck seemed to desert us. It was one of the
days when, in spite of twitching the line and using all the tricks we
could think of, the cunners would either eat our bait or keep away
altogether. Kate at last said we must starve unless we could catch the
big flounder, and asked me to drop my hook down the hatchway; but it
seemed almost too bad to destroy his innocent happiness. Just then we
heard the noise of oars, and to our delight saw Cap'n Sands in his dory
just beyond the next wharf. "Any luck?" said he. "S'pose ye don't care
anything about going out this morning?"