was against them and the sky wild.

Next night, much the same thing. It was rumoured that some Cornish
craft were beating up to the bay.

Next day, the Little Russian, a small, snug, ragged, much-bearded man,
was to be seen painting the stern of his old boat--a craft more
tattered and torn, if possible, than her owner.

"What be doing, Harry?"

No reply. Great industry with the paint-brush.

"Be going to sea then?"

"Iss intye! What did 'er think?"

The Little Russian went on doggedly with his work, and when he rose
from his knees, there appeared complete, on the stern of his boat, in
lanky, crooked white letters: _Shooting Star of Seacombe_.

"Be it true yu'm going to sea t'night, Harry?"

"Iss."

"What do 'ee 'spect to catch? Eh?"

No answer again. The Little Russian was hauling a couple of nets
aboard.

"Who be going with 'ee?"

"Ol' Joe Barker an' 'Gustus Theodore."

"Good Lord! '_Tis_ a crew, that! Be 'ee going to catch dree dozen or
ten thousand?"

"We'm on'y taking two nets," replied the Little Russian quite
seriously.

He was very busy.

[Sidenote: _AND SHOVES OFF_]

About three in the afternoon, when the drifters put out to sea, the
nor'west wind was springing out from land in squalls. It had not
sea-space to raise big waves, but it blew the white tops off the
wavelets which hurried out against, and on the top of, the sou'westerly
swell that was heaving its way in. As Uncle Jake remarked: "'Tis
blowing fresh, I can tell 'ee, an' not so very far out at that. An'
'tis blowing half a gale from the sou'west outside in the Channel. Do
'ee see thic black line across the horizon? That's the sou'west wind,
an' plenty o'it. Luke at thees yer run along the shore, wi' a calm sea.
'Tis the sou'west outside as makes that tu."

The boats hoisted their smaller mainsails. "Aye, an' they'll hae to
reef they down afore they gets out far. There! did 'ee see thic? That's
thiccy seine-boat as fitted out. Seine-boats ain't no fit craft for
herring driftin'."

The mainmast of the seine boat had toppled over to port. No sooner was
it re-stepped, and the sail hoisted, than over it went again. "Step o'
the mast gone, I'll be bound," said Uncle Jake. "They'm going to
capsize, going on like that, if they bain't careful. Poor job! when
mastises goes over like that. Better to row.... There's thic Li'l
Roosian shoving off!"

In fact, the _Shooting Star_ was shoved off, but a wave threw her back
upon the shore.