"So as to be ready for the fish that come up with the tide to feed. Look at that." "Why, it rains," cried Dick. "No, it don't. Why, the water's all of a patter. It's fish rising." "Little school o' mack'rel," said Josh. "They'll be seeing o' them from up the cliff bime-by." "And does a _school_ of mackerel always play about on the top like that?" said Dick, watching the dappled water where the fish were swimming close to the surface. "Not it, lad. They're oftener down below. Look at the mews coming after 'em." He nodded in the direction of half a dozen grey gulls which came flapping towards them, and as the school passed off to the left and the boat bore to the right Dick could see the flap-winged birds keep dipping down with a querulous cry, splash the water, and ascend again. "They're after the brill," said Will. "Brill!" "Yes; the small fish that the mackerel are feeding on. They keep snatching them up from the top of the water. Little fish about half as big as sprats. Look at them, you can almost see the little fish they catch. There, that fellow has got a good one." And so they watched the evolutions of the gulls for a few minutes, till Josh called out "_Avast_!" and Dick turned, to find that they were back at the first buoy. "Now, then, are you ready?" said Will. "Yes," cried Dick. "Take Josh's gaff then, and you shall hook in the first big one." Will's sleeves were rolled up above the elbow, and the line was drawn up over the boat, which was so placed that the line was across it, Josh helping with one oar, while Will hauled at the line, drawing it up one side and letting it go down again on the other. First bait untouched, and passed on to descend on the other side. Second bait gone, and replaced by a fresh piece of squid from the basket. Third bait gone, and replaced, to descend on the other side. Then four baits untouched, six more gone, taken off. "Why, if you'd been ready to strike, you might have had all these fish when they began to bite," cried Dick. "P'r'aps so," said Will. "Maybe it was only the crabs that bit the baits off." And all the time he kept on hauling in the line and examining the hook till they were a long way on towards the farther buoy. "Oh, I say," cried Dick at last, "this isn't half such good sport as-- what do you call it?--whiffing." "Think not?" said Will. "Yes, that I do. I should have thought you would have caught lots of fish with a line like this." "So we do," cried Josh, "sometimes." "I wish you'd catch something now," said Dick in a disappointed tone. "Here you are then," cried Will, laughing as he hauled on at the line; "a big one." "Where, where?" cried Dick, ready with the hook. "Down below here; I can feel him." "Let me haul him in." "No, no," said Will. "You'd better let me. You'll get too wet. Be ready with the hook." "Yes, yes, I am," cried Dick, more excitedly than ever.