"Thirty fathom," said Dan, stringing a salt clam on to the hook.
"Over with the dough-boys. Bait same's I do, Harve, an' don't
snarl your reel."

Dan's line was out long before Harvey had mastered the mystery of
baiting and heaving out the leads. The dory drifted along easily.
It was not worth while to anchor till they were sure of good
ground.

"Here we come!" Dan shouted, and a shower of spray rattled on
Harvey's shoulders as a big cod flapped and kicked alongside.
"Muckle, Harvey, muckle! Under your hand! Quick!"

Evidently "muckle" could not be the dinner-horn, so Harvey passed
over the maul, and Dan scientifically stunned the fish before he
pulled it inboard, and wrenched out the hook with the short wooden
stick he called a "gob-stick." Then Harvey felt a tug, and pulled
up zealously.

"Why, these are strawberries!" he shouted. "Look!"

The hook had fouled among a bunch of strawberries, red on one side
and white on the other - perfect reproductions of the land fruit,
except that there were no leaves, and the stem was all pipy and
slimy.

"Don't tech 'em! Slat 'em off. Don't -"

The warning came too late. Harvey had picked them from the hook,
and was admiring them.