But the perplexing part of the business was this: where did the fish go? There was no other sandy patch for miles, and since flat fish rarely desert their favourite ground and almost invariably give rocky bottoms a wide berth, the unaccountable coming and going of the soles was a mystery. Close hauled on the starboard it took the _Frolic_ a good three hours to arrive at the spot Negus had chosen for the casting of the net. By this time the sun had set and a slight mist was stealing seawards from the low-lying land. "Mun' wait a-while," remarked the old fisherman. "Tide don't carve yet. We'll overrun yon trawl. Mind you be careful as we're shootin' it an' don't go overboard with it." "I'll try not to," replied Brandon. "A fellow wouldn't stand much chance mixed up with that lot." "He might," continued the _Frolic's_ owner. "I call to mind when I wur a young man--twixt fifty an' sixty year agone--I knowed a boy what was carried overboard in the pocket of the trawl. Twenty minutes 'e wur under water--p'raps more, sartainly no less." "He was drowned, of course," said Brandon. Old Negus chortled. "Drownded--not much," he declared. "They got 'im out an' scrubbed him wi' salt till 'e wur as red as a oiled lobster. Same arternoon 'e wur a-playin' about right as ninepence. That's a solemn fact. Howsomever, tide's about right now. Over with 'em." Brandon now took the tiller, while his elder companion dived into the fo'c'sle to tend the coke stove and also to fill and light his blackened clay pipe. It was an ideal night, warm and with just sufficient wind to take the fishing boat over the ground in spite of the drag of the net. The _Frolic_ apparently had the Silverknoll to herself, although at some miles distant could be discerned the port and masthead lights of a vessel proceeding up-channel. A little later the lights vanished, owing to a bank of mist drifting towards the solitary fishing boat. Presently Old Negus emerged from his retreat and peered landwards. There were no marks so far as Brandon could make out; but evidently the old fisherman knew exactly where he was. "End o' bank," he announced. "Up with yon trawl." It was tedious work. By dint of their united efforts, the net came home foot by foot, copiously shedding moisture and seaweed, until the "bag," heavy and bulky, showed just below the surface. "We've got a good haul this time, Negus," declared Brandon. The old fisherman shook his head. "Weed, mos' like," he rejoined. "Mind yon otter-board. It be fairish heavy." When the catch was examined it was found to consist mainly of sand and seaweed. But half a dozen medium-sized soles and a couple of dabs rewarded their efforts. "There's summat about to-night," decided Old Negus, as he set up the peak of the mainsail. "We'm still main early."