We Go A-Fishing 131 



Patchogue was lost in the mist. The breeze 

 grew fresher and fresher. The waves began to 

 rise, and it was as lively sailing as any one 

 could want when we reached the little fleet of 

 fishing-boats lying on the cinder-beds and cast 

 out our anchor. We were late for the right 

 tide, but as the crews of the other boats re- 

 ported the fishing to be fair, we decided to try 

 it. With such a breeze it would be less than 

 a two hours' sail home, and it was not yet two 

 o'clock. We should have time for an hour's 

 fishing, for half an hour's run on shore in order 

 to rest the children, and then we could make 

 sail for home with a fresh wind at our stern for 

 a ten miles' run. 



The routine of our bluefishing I have de- 

 scribed elsewhere. Fish are a secondary con- 

 sideration. If we catch any, well and good ; 

 if not, we have had a pretext for sailing thirty 

 miles and idling away the day in the most 

 profitable way imaginable. "L'Art de ne Rien 

 Faire " is after all one of the most difficult of 

 arts. Nature and the animals flourish in idle- 

 ness. But man is supposed to deteriorate when 

 not engaged in producing things, or robbing 



