nder, to left of that buoy?"

"I can see the water looks dark and rippled," said Dick.

"That's them, lad. That's the school o' mack'rel, and I shouldn't
wonder if they come right on the flat rock sand."

"What--out of the water?"

"Out of the water? No. Not unless they are catched, and then they'll
come out of the water fast enough."

"Look at that chap on the cliff!" cried Dick, as the man began waving
what really were boughs of heather up and down.

"Yes, he's signalling away to them in the boat. He can see the school.
P'r'aps they can't; and he's telling 'em which way to row."

"But what are they going to do?" cried Dick.

"Do? Why, try and catch that school of mack'rel. Can't you see the
seine?"

"What--the net?" said Dick.

"Yes; that's it--hundreds of yards of it. Can you see which way the
school's going?"

"Right up to the head of the bay," replied Will.

"Then they are going over the sands, and the lads'll get them. Can't
shoot a seine if there's rocks anywhere near," added Josh for the
visitor's information. "Get the net torn, and the mack'rel would get
out of the hole or under the bottom, where it rests on the rocks. You'd
like to stop and see them shoot?"

"What--the mackerel?" said Dick.

"Yah! No; the net."

"Shoot it?" said Dick.

"Yes; shoot it over into the sea."

"Oh! I understand," said Dick; "but they shoot rubbish."

"Oh, they shoot rubbish, do they?" said Josh.

"Yes, about London," replied Dick. "Look how he's waving his arms
about."

"Yes. School's going off another way. P'r'aps they mayn't get a chance
to shoot, for the school may go out to sea."

"Let's row close up. I want to see," cried Dick.

"Nay, nay; we might be frightening the fish. Let's wait and see first,
and if they surround 'em then we'll go close up. You sit still and
watch."

The scene was worth watching on that bright morning, with the blue sky
above, the glittering sea below, the village nestling in the cliffs,
with its chimneys sending up their columns of smoke into the clear air;
and at the foot of the cliff, as if seeking its protection, lay the
little fishing fleet, with its brown sails giving warmth and colour to
as bonny an English landscape as could well be seen. There up aloft,
where the hill cliff was purple and gold and grey with heath and furze
and crag, was the man with the bushes, signalling to his comrades in the
boat, which seemed to be crawling slowly along, the p