ttered about in different
attitudes, and looked more confidential than usual.

Just as we were going away we happened to see a man at work in one of
the sheds. He was the fisherman whom we knew least of all; an
odd-looking, silent sort of man, more sunburnt and weather-beaten than
any of the others. We had learned to know him by the bright red flannel
shirt he always wore, and besides, he was lame; some one told us he had
had a bad fall once, on board ship. Kate and I had always wished we
could find a chance to talk with him. He looked up at us pleasantly, and
when we nodded and smiled, he said "Good day" in a gruff, hearty voice,
and went on with his work, cleaning mackerel.

"Do you mind our watching you?" asked Kate.

"No, _ma'am_!" said the fisherman emphatically. So there we stood.

Those fish-houses were curious places, so different from any other kind
of workshop. In this there was a seine, or part of one, festooned among
the cross-beams overhead, and there were snarled fishing-lines, and
barrows to carry fish in, like wheelbarrows without wheels; there were
the queer round lobster-nets, and "kits" of salt mackerel, tubs of bait,
and piles of clams; and some queer bones, and parts of remarkable fish,
and lobster-claws of surprising size fastened on the walls for ornament.
There was a pile of rubbish down at the end; I dare say it was all
useful, however,--there is such mystery about the business.

Kate and I were never tired of hearing of the fish that come at
different times of the year, and go away again, like the birds; or of
the actions of the dog-fish, which the 'longshore-men hate so bitterly;
and then there are such curious legends and traditions, of which almost
all fishermen have a store.

"I think mackerel are the prettiest fish that swim," said I presently.

"So do I, miss," said the man, "not to say but I've seen more
fancy-looking fish down in southern waters, bright as any flower you
ever see; but a mackerel," holding up one admiringly, "why, they're so
clean-built and trig-looking! Put a cod alongside, and he looks as
lumbering as an old-fashioned Dutch brig aside a yacht.

"Those are good-looking fish, but they an't made much account of,"
continued our friend, as he pushed aside the mackerel and took another
tub. "They're hake, I s'pose you know. But I forgot,--I can't stop to
bother with them now." And he pulled forward a barrow full of small
fish, flat and hard, with pointed, bony heads.