scraper scooped up the superstratum and its living 

 inhabitants, both fixed and free, from the floor — 

 because of its easier operation single-handed, 

 though quantitatively the results with the dredge 

 would have been surer. 



The tow-net was allowed to take care of itself, 

 requiring no other attention than an occasional 

 hauling-in to transfer the cloudy contents of the 

 bottle to a large collecting-jar: but the trawl was 

 not so free. It needed constant watching lest upon 

 its striking some submerged rock or reefy snag the 

 propeller should not be stopped soon enough to 

 relieve the strain and to avoid a serious tear or 

 perhaps its entire loss. Indeed, this vigilance even- 

 tually was well rewarded in another, but a quite 

 unanticipated, way. 



Having just rounded Prospect Point, which 

 marks the easterly tip of Manhasset Neck, the 

 Hippocampus was on the last leg of her homeward 

 course. Hempstead Harbor, with its fleet of sum- 

 mer craft riding at anchor behind the breakwater, 

 hove into view. The sun, now risen, began to dis- 

 pel the chill and dampness remaining from the 

 dewy dawn. We were passing over what I had 

 known to be, from the charts and from previous 



[222] 



