he watched certain points on the
shore, we rowed away for quite half a mile, but keeping straight out
from the Gap.

"Now we're just over the Ringlets," cried Bigley suddenly.

"Heave over the anchor then!" I shouted.

"No, go on a bit farther, about fifty yards, and then we shall be on the
muddy sand. I know."

We boys pulled, and then all at once Bigley shouted "In oars!" and we
ceased rowing as the grapnel went over the side with a splash, and the
cord ran across the gunwale, grating and _scrorting_ as Bob called it,
till the little anchor reached the bottom, and the drifting of the boat
was checked.

"I say, isn't it deep?" I said.

"Just about nine fathoms," said Bigley. "You'll have plenty of hauling
to do."

"I say, look!" I cried, as I happened to look shoreward, "you can see
right up the Gap nearly to the mine."

"Isn't the sea smooth?" said Bob. "It's just like oil. Now then, first
fish. Put us on a good big bait, Bigley, old chap."

The hooks were all ready with the weights and spreaders, and Bigley
began calmly enough to hook and twist on a couple of the wet and messy
raw mussels for Bob, and then did the same for mine, when we two began
to fish on opposite sides of the boat, letting the leads go rapidly down
what appeared to be a tremendous distance before they touched the ooze.

It seemed quite a matter of course that we two were to fish, and Bigley
wait upon us, opening mussels, rebaiting when necessary, and holding
himself ready to take off the fish, should any be caught.

I never used to think anything about Bigley Uggleston in these days,
only that he was overgrown and good-tempered, and never ready to
quarrel; and it did not seem to strike either of us that he was about
the most unselfish, self-denying slave that ever lived. I know now that
we were perfect tyrants to him, while he, amiable giant that he was,
bore it all with the greatest of equanimity, and the more unreasonable
we were, the more patient he seemed to grow.

We fished for some few minutes without a sign, and then Bob grew weary.

"It's no good here, Big, they won't bite. Let's go on farther."

"Bait's off, perhaps," suggested Bigley.

"No, it isn't. I haven't had a touch."

"Perhaps not, but the flat-fish suck it off gently sometimes. Pull up."

Bob drew in the wet line hand over hand, till the lead sinker hit the
side of the boat; and Bigley proved to be right, both baits were off his
hooks, and as they