ed us.

We chose our berth among the other drifters that were on the ground. We
shot two hundred and forty fathom of net with a swishing plash of the
yarn and a smack-smack-splutter of the buoys. We had our supper of
sandwiches and tatie-cake and hotted-up tea.

"Can 'ee smell ort?" asked John sniffing out over the bows.

"Herring!" said I. "I can smell 'em plainly."

"Then there's fish about."

Tony however remarked the absence of birds, and declared that the water
didn't look so fishy as when they had their last big haul. "They
herrings be gone east," he repeated.

"G'out! What did 'ee come west for then? I told yu to du as yu was
minded, an' yu did, didn' 'ee? Us'll haul up in a couple o' hours an'
see w'er us got any."

We didn't turn in. We piled on clothes and stayed drinking, smoking,
chatting, singing--a boat-full of life swinging gently to the nets in
an immense dark silence, an immense sea-whisper.

[Sidenote: _HAULING IN THE NETS_]

About nine o'clock we hauled in for not more than nine dozen of fish.
The sea-fire glimmered on the rising net, glittered in the boat, and
then, with an almost painful suddenness, snuffed out. "They be so full
as eggs," said John every minute or two, holding out fish to Tony, who
felt them and answered, "Iss, they'm no scanters [spawned or undersized
fish]. _They_ bain't here alone."

Nets inboard, we rowed a little east of another boat, to shoot a second
time. John said, "Hoist the sail, can't 'ee." Tony said, "What's the
need?"

Before eleven we were foul of the other boat's nets and had again to
haul in. Tony puffed and panted with the double weight; John
disentangled the mesh and swore.

"If we'd a-hoisted the sail..." he grumbled.

"There wasn't no need if we'd a-pulled a bit farther."

"What's the good o' pulling yer arms out?"

"I knowed where to go, on'y yu said we was far enough."

"No I didn't!"

"S'thee think I don' know where to shute a fleet o' nets?"

"Well, we'm foul, anyhow."

"I was herring drifting afore yu was born. I knows well enough."

"Why don' 'ee hae yer own way then, if yu knows. Yu'm s'posed to be
skipper here."

"If I'd had me own way...."

"Hould thy bloody row, casn'!"

It sounded like murder gathering up; but Tony calls it their brotherly
love-talk, and they are no worse friends for it all. The better the
catch, the more exciting the work, and the livelier the love-talk. They
say, therefore, that it brings luck to a boa