Toward the upper place they walked rapidly and eagerly, and looked anxiously around for the “breathing-holes.” “Here,” said Muckle. “There are lots here.” Both went toward where he stood. “See,” said he, pointing to the sand, which was dotted with little holes all around the place where they were standing. “That,” said Muckle, “is a sure sign.” “So it is,” said Jiggins. “Well, let’s go in.” “An’ is there oysters here, too?” asked Pat. “No; only clams.” “It’s sorry I am for that same, thin. Oysters are a dale betther.” “O, clams ain’t bad,” said Muckle, “when you can’t get oysters. So pitch in, Jiggins.” And Muckle, taking his stick, began to scoop up the sand. Jiggins began to do the same; and for some time both worked diligently. “Pooh!” said Jiggins, at last. “That stick’s no good.” “No good? Why not?” “It won’t hold the sand.” “Mine does very well.” “Well, I might as well have nothing. It’s like trying to eat rice with a chopstick, Chinese fashion. I’m going to try another plan.” “What’s that?” “Why, like the hens. I’m going to scratch for my food,” said Jiggins. “What were fingers made for?” And saying this, he began scratching up the sand. “Bedad! an’ if you’re the hen, I’ll be the chicken, an’ ate what you scratch up.” “Will you?” asked Jiggins. “I will thin.” “Whatever I scratch up?” “Yes--if they’re clams.” “But you’ll have to eat them raw.” “Well, sure it’s raw I mane.” “Why, man alive, it’ll make you sick.” “I’ll risk it. Sick is it? Not a bit of it.” “Did you ever eat any raw clams, Pat?” “Av coorse. Why not? and raw oysters, too.” “Well, you won’t blame me?” “Is it blame? Not a bit of it. Niver fare.” “O, well, I’ll scratch for you then.” “Go ahead, thin.” So Jiggins began, and scratched for some time. “Here’s your first clam,” said he, throwing out one to Pat. Pat opened it, and swallowed it with extraordinary celerity. “Doesn’t that look as if I knowed how?” said he, biting off the black tip of the clam, and throwing it down. “Scratch them along, my boy.” “All right; here’s another.” “An’ here’s to your very good health, an’ long life to ye,” said Pat, as he swallowed it. “Here’s another--and here--and here--and here, too--and here’s three.” “Faith, thin, the more the merrier, and it’s meself that’s glad to see thim same,” said Pat, as he seized and opened them, one by one, and sent them flying after the others. “How do you feel now?” asked Jiggins, after he had scratched for some time. “Sure I feel better than iver; an’ why not?” “All right. Here are some more. Go it, Pat.” “Go it it is,” said Pat, seizing the clams with undiminished avidity, and devouring them. “Here’s more, Pat. Don’t blame me if you see the ghost of your grandmother in your dreams tonight. And here’s more. Don’t blame me if you have the gripes, and have to stand on your head all night.” “Niver you fare for me; but you go on wid yer scratching an’ let me ate in pace.”