So they started out, found the car tracks, and proceeded to follow them along the side of the harbor, past queer little white cottages set in diminutive gardens or nestled in tiny groves of apple trees. To their right a high granite cliff shot up against the blue sky, and was crowned with a few houses which looked as though they might blow off at the first hard wind. After three hours on the boat it felt mighty good to be able to stretch their legs again, and they made fast time. Presently they came to what at first glance seemed to be an acre or so of low white canvas tents, and Tom and Dan, walking ahead, stopped in surprise. Then—— “Blamed if they aren’t fish!” exclaimed Tom. “With little awnings over them to keep them from getting freckled!” “What are they doing?” asked Bob. “They dry them like this,” answered Nelson. “They’ve been cleaned and salted, you see, and when they’re dried they are packed in boxes and tubs and casks.” Bob whistled expressively. “I never knew there were so many fish in the world!” he exclaimed. Nelson laughed. “This is only one,” he said. “There are lots more fish yards just like it here.” “What are they?” asked Dan. “Codfish?” “Oh, all sorts: cod, hake, pollack—everything.” There was row after row of benches covered with wooden slats on which the fish, still damp with the brine, were spread flat. Above the flakes, as the benches are called, strips of white cotton cloth were stretched, to moderate the heat of the sunlight. There was a strong odor of fish, and a stronger and less pleasant odor from the harbor bottom left exposed by the ebbing tide. Tom sniffed disgustedly. “I never liked fish cakes, anyhow,” he muttered. Beyond the flakes were the wharves and sheds, the masts of several schooners showing above the roofs. As they came to one of the open doors they stopped and looked in. Dried fish were piled here and there on the salt-encrusted floor, and men were hard at work packing them into casks. “Will they let you go through the place?” asked Dan. “Yes,” Nelson answered. “Let’s go, then. I’d like to see how they do it.” “All right,” said Nelson, “but I’ve seen it once, and I’d rather go to town. You fellows go, if you want to.” Finally Dan and Tom decided to go through the fish house and Bob and Nelson to continue on to town. “You’ll have to shed your clothes and take a bath when you come out,” Nelson warned them. There wasn’t much to see in the town, and after making a few small purchases—that of a new potato knife being one of them—they boarded a car and, after the trials and tribulations usually falling to the lot of the person so rash as to patronize the Gloucester street railway, returned to the hotel and found Dan and Tom awaiting them on the porch. Nelson and Bob halted at a respectful distance. “Have you had your baths yet?” they asked. “Not yet, but soon,” answered Tom. “Then we’ll stay here, if you don’t mind,” said Bob. “Oh, get out! It wasn’t very smelly,” declared Dan.