WE GO A- FISHING. IO? 



fish," or the menhaden of the oil factories ; 

 when our bay fishermen take them in their nets, 

 they are not thrown back, but are used as ma- 

 nure. As the Cap'n says, every " bunker " 

 represents a good-sized potato to him. For a 

 few cents we get a bucketful of them for bait. 

 It is six o'clock by the time we get back to the 

 house, to find the breakfast steaming on the 

 table. Half an hour later we are off to the 

 shore again, and before seven o'clock the Nelly 

 is bowling along westward at the rate of five 

 miles an hour. The village is still, to all in- 

 tents and purposes, asleep, although the sun 

 has begun to melt the mists, and the air has 

 lost the keen sharpness of an hour before. As 

 we glide along, all to the south of us, over tow- 

 ards the ocean, is one flood of golden light, with 

 the low ridge of the sand hills standing out in 

 shadow ; above these lines of sand dunes the 

 morning sky is resplendent, and between us 

 and the beach the bay glitters with dancing 

 sunbeams. On the other side we have the 

 Long Island shore, with its hills and woods, its 

 farmhouses and hay-stacks. From our point of 

 view, about a mile out in the bay, we can see 

 the spires of half-a-dozen villages Bellport, 



