128 We Go A-Fishing 



seems hard to believe that within a few weeks 

 the oystermen will be blowing on their fingers 

 and swinging their arms, and that the duck- 

 shooters will be ranging this very spot. The 

 water is so warm that it is still full of jelly-fish, 

 which the children catch with a scalp net as 

 we glide slowly along. Half an hour later the 

 breeze dies out entirely, and the boom swings 

 from one side to the other, the sail flapping 

 idly. No amount of whistling brings a breeze. 

 It is hot and still. The buzzing of an occa- 

 sional fly and noises from the distant shore are 

 faintly heard; the barking of dogs and the 

 hammering of some carpenters are very dis 

 tinct. As the little air moving comes from 

 the shore, we cannot hear the boom of the surf 

 on the other side of us. The cinder-beds, our 

 fishing-grounds, are still five miles away. By 

 watching the bottom, a few feet below us, we 

 estimate that the boat is moving at the rate of 

 one yard a minute, at which pace we shall get 

 there sometime next year. This is part of 

 fisherman's luck, and the man who should feel 

 resentment or show impatience in such circum- 

 stances has no business to go fishing on the 



