"Silverknoll Bank," he answered. "We might find a few sole up-along. Fish be tur'ble scarce--none of us fisherfolk can quite make out why 'tes. Last week--when my boy Jim broke 'is arm, the old _Frolic_ gybing accidental-like--we was down along the Five Fathom Bank, and we ne'er got so much as a bucket o' fish. So I thought I'd just try the Silverknoll. Bowse down that there tack, you might." Brandon quickly carried out the order of his temporary skipper, then sitting on the weather waterways, he took stock of his surroundings. The _Frolic_ was an old boat, probably almost as ancient as her grey-haired owner, but she had a reputation for weatherliness that had been gained in many a hard fight against winter gales. She was roughly thirty feet in length, and with a beam of ten feet, her draught being four feet six inches. She was decked in as far as the mast, a small fo'c'sle providing sleeping accommodation, if necessary, for a couple of hands. An open well extended from the mast to within five feet of the transom, the latter space being occupied by a self-draining tray. Outside ballast she had none, her stability being assured by the weight of nearly five tons of stones packed under the floorboards. She was cutter-rigged, with a loose-footed mainsail, and in spite of her "dead" ballast she rode the waves like a duck. It was Brandon's first experience of a trip on a fishing smack. The novelty of it appealed to him, coupled with the knowledge that he was doing a Good Turn to old Negus by bearing a hand with the heavy gear. For the present there was nothing much to be done. Brandon was at liberty to sit and watch the coast as the harbour piers of Aberstour faded away on the port quarter. He revelled in the salt-laden breeze, but one sniff warned him of the risk he ran of sheltering under the weather coaming. The _Frolic_ reeked abominably. There was no denying the fact. Her open well emanated odours of bait that was long past the "high" stage, mingled with the reek of fish, decaying seaweed and mussel-shells, the whole variety of perfumes being toned down by the pungent smell of tar. "Suppose I'll get used to it," thought Brandon dubiously. "Negus seems to have thrived on it." There was secret admiration in Brandon's mind as he glanced at the stolid face of the hale and hearty fisherman, who, notwithstanding his three score and ten years, was as active as many a man half his age, and looked strong in muscles and sinews. The Silverknoll Bank lay about fifteen miles east of Aberstour and about two and a half miles from Broken Point, the nearest land. It was what was known as uncertain ground--the fishermen could never rely upon a steady catch. Sometimes the trawl would be full of fine soles; at others the result of a hard night's work would be so small as to render the trip unprofitable, and sometimes not sufficient to pay for the wear and tear of the gear.