ill of
brilliantly-tinted mackerel bigger on the other, and in the evening
light it seemed as if the wondrous colours with which the water shone in
ripples far and near had been caught and dyed upon the sides of the
fish.

Mark Penelly came over from the other side of the lugger, where he
seemed to have been busy for a moment or two, while the men were bending
over their work, and seated himself upon the low bulwark close to the
master.

"Has he got round?" said the latter, looking up for a moment.

"Whom do you mean?" said Penelly, who was rather pale.

"Young Mas'r Harry. Didn't you see him?"

"See him?--no. I thought he had swum back."

"Went round the other side," said the master quietly. "Here, you Zekle,
don't throw a fish like that on to the heap; the head's half off."

The man advanced, picked the torn mackerel off the heap, where he had
inadvertently thrown it, and the work went on, till as the master raised
his eyes to where Penelly sat, he saw how pale and strange he looked.

"Why, lad," he exclaimed, "you've been too long in the water. You look
quite cold and blue. I'd lay hold of one of the sweeps if I were you.
It will warm you to help pullin'. Here, hallo!" he shouted, "who's let
all that net go trailing overboard? Here's a mess! we shall have to run
it all through our hands again."

Mark Penelly's eyes seemed starting out of his head as, with a
convulsive gasp, he seized hold of the net, along with the master and
another, and they began to haul in fathom after fathom, which came up
slowly, and as if a great deal of it were sunk.

"Why, there's half the net overboard!" cried the master angrily. "How
did you manage it? What have you been about?"

"There can't be much over," said the man who was helping; "she was all
right just now. There's a fish in it, and a big one."

"Don't talk such foolery, Zekle Wynn," said the master. "I tell 'ee
half the net's overboard."

"How can she be overboard when she's nigh all in the boat?" said the man
savagely.

"Zekle's right," cried Mark Penelly, who was hauling away excitedly;
"there's a big fish in it. Look! you can see the gleam of it down
below."

"Well, don't pull a man's nets in like that, Mas'r Mark!" said the
other, now growing interested and hauling steadily in; "nets cost money
to breed." [Note. Cornish. Making nets is termed "breeding."] "Why,
it's a porpoise, and a good big 'un too! Steady, lads; steady! She's
swum into t