fish-hooks, of many sorts and sizes, and of
fish-lines which looked as if they had thus far spent their lives on dry
land.

"Tip-top," he remarked. "I see a lot of things we can use one of these
days, but there isn't time to go over 'em now. Let's go for the crabs.
What made you bring your box along?"

"Oh!" replied Ford, "I left my rods at home, both of 'em. You don't
s'pose I'd go for crabs with a rod, do you? But you can take your pick
of hooks and lines."

"Crabs? Hooks and lines?"

"Why, yes. You don't mean to scoop 'em up in that landing-net, do you?"

Dab looked at his friend for a moment in blank amazement, and then the
truth broke upon him for the first time.

"Oh, I see! You never caught any crabs. Well, just you lock up your
jewellery-box, and I'll show you."

It was not easy for Dab to keep from laughing in Ford Foster's face; but
his mother had not given him so many lessons in good-breeding for
nothing, and Ford was permitted to close his ambitious "casket" without
any worse annoyance than his own wounded pride gave him.

But now came out the secret of the basket.

The cover was jerked off; and nothing was revealed but a varied
assortment of clams, large and small, but mostly of good size,--tough
old customers, that no amount of roasting or boiling would ever have
prepared for human eating.

"What are they for,--bait?"

"Yes, bait, weight, and all."

"How's that?"

Dabney's reply was to draw from his pocket a couple of long, strong
cords, bits of old fishing-lines. He cracked a couple of clams one
against the other; tied the fleshy part of one to each of the cords;
tied bits of shell on, a foot or so from the ends, for sinkers; handed
one cord to Ford, took the other himself, and laid the long-handled
scoop-net he had brought with him down between them, saying,--

"Now we're ready. Drop your clam down to the bottom, and it won't be
half a minute before you feel something pull on it. Then you draw it up
gently,--steady as you know how. You mustn't jerk the crab loose. You'll
get the knack of it in five minutes. It's all knack. There isn't any
thing else so stupid as a crab."

Ford watched carefully, and obeyed in silence the directions he had
received.

In a minute or so more the operation of the scoop-net was called for,
and the fun began.

"You got him!" exclaimed Ford in a loud whisper, as he saw Dab quickly
plunge the net into the water, and then shake out of it into the bottom
of