to breathe, lest they should frighten away the fish; each boy
watching his own and his neighbour's line with feverish anxiety.
Suddenly one little fellow, in a state of great excitement, began
tugging at his line.

"Now then, Charlie Scott," called a big boy, who seemed to be the head
of the party, "what are you pulling in that line for again? That is the
third time in less than ten minutes; how is it likely we can catch
anything?"

All the boys joined in a low chorus of "Yes, indeed!" "A pretty fellow
he is to fish!" "Serves us right for letting him come with us." The fact
was, the boys had been very unsuccessful that afternoon; they had taken
nothing, and it was a relief to have some one to lay the blame upon.

"I am sure there's something this time, though," said Charlie, still
pulling away. His manner was so confident, that the boys became
interested in spite of themselves, and several nearly lost their
balance, craning out their necks to see beyond each other.

At last up came the hook, with a jerk that sent Charlie backwards; it
had been entangled in a large piece of seaweed, that gave way suddenly
just as he got it to the surface. "It's very strange," he said, as he
examined the hook minutely, longing to find something alive, no matter
how small. "It's very strange; I'm always feeling something, and yet I
never catch anything."

"I tell you what it is, young Scott, if you don't mind what you're
about, you'll both feel something and catch something soon that you
won't like, perhaps," grumbled the big boy.

"Here, Charlie," called Morley Scott, seeing there was likely to be a
quarrel, "I want you to run on an errand for me."

Charlie looked round, and seeing his father, he jumped up readily. To
tell the truth, he was not sorry of the excuse to give up his fishing;
he had been thoroughly tired of it for the last quarter of an hour,
although he did not like to own it to the other boys. He was a bright,
happy-looking little fellow, about eight years of age, with light,
waving hair, merry blue eyes, and sunburnt face.

"What is it, father?" he asked.

"I want you to run and find uncle John; tell him that the _Refuge_ is
lying off at sea, waiting for us. Ask him to come with you, because they
want to be into the docks to-night."

Away ran Charlie with his message, and soon returned with uncle John.
All three then made their way to the docks, where a number of small
boats were moored.

"Do take me with you