"Well, woman, that's the mortal strange part of it. It does look cruel, sarten sure, but then the herrings themselves catch the sand-eels, and the cod catch the herrings, and the porpoises and grampuses catch the cod. Aw, that's the truth, little big-eyes. It's wonderful strange, but I suppose it's all nathur. You see, Ruby veg, we do the same ourselves." Ruby looks horrified. "How do you mean, Danny? We don't eat one another." "Oh, don't we, though? leave us alone for that." Ruby is aghast. "Well, of course, not to say _ate_, not 'xactly _ate_; but the biggest chap allis rigs the rest. And the next biggest chap allis rigs a littler one, you know; and the littlest chap he gets rigged by everybody all round, doesn't he?" Danny had clearly got a grip of the problem, but his poor simple face looked sadly burdened. "Seems to me it must be all nathur somehow, Ruby." "Do you think it is, Danny?" "Well, well--I do, you know," with a grave shake of the head over this summary of the philosophy of life. "Then nature is very cruel, and I don't love it." "Cruel? Well, pozzible, pozzible. It does make me fit to cry a bit; but it must be nathur somehow, Ruby." Danny's eyes were looking very hazy, when the little one, who didn't love nature, caught sight of some corn-poppies and bounded after them. "The darlings! oh the loves!" And one or two were immediately intertwined with the foxgloves in the hat. Just then Mona came down the hill. Danny saw her at a distance, but gave no sign. He contrived to lead Ruby to the other side of the road from that on which Mona was walking, so that when they came abreast there was a dozen yards between them. Mona stopped. "Good-morning, Danny." Danny's eyes were on his heavy sea-boots, and he did not answer. "Why, it's only Mona," cried Ruby, tugging at Danny's oil-skins. Mona crossed the road, and Danny ventured to lift his eyes to the level of her neck. Then she asked about the fishing. Danny answered in monosyllables. She colored slightly, and spoke of Christian being in the boat. "Strange, wasn't it?" "Seems to me," answered Danny, "that there's somethin' afoot between Uncle Bill and the young masther." Mona's curiosity was aroused by the reply, and she probed Danny with searching questions. Then he told her of the conversation of the deck that morning. She perceived that mischief was brewing. Yet Danny could give her nothing that served as a clue. If only some one of sharper wit could overhear such a conversation, then perhaps the mischief might be prevented. Suddenly Mona conceived a daring idea, which was partly suggested by the sight of an old disused barn that stood in a field close at hand. "Everybody is talking of some supper to-night to finish the season. Will Christian be there?" "I heard him say so," said Danny. "And your uncle, Bill Kisseck?" "Aw, 'deed, for sure. He's allis where there's guzzlin'." "Could you lend me your oil-skins, Danny?"