in they
cannot get out. That is the philosophy of a fyke. I bought one of
Conroy. "Now," said I to Mrs. Sparrowgrass, "we shall have fresh fish
to-morrow for breakfast," and went out to set it. I drove the stakes in
the mud, spread the fyke in the boat, tied the end of one wing to the
stake, and cast the whole into the water. The tide carried it out in a
straight line. I got the loose end fastened to the boat, and found it
impossible to row back against the tide with the fyke. I then untied it,
and it went downstream, stake and all. I got it into the boat, rowed up,
and set the stake again. Then I tied one end to the stake and got out of
the boat myself in shoal water. Then the boat got away in deep water;
then I had to swim for the boat. Then I rowed back and untied the fyke.
Then the fyke got away. Then I jumped out of the boat to save the fyke,
and the boat got away. Then I had to swim again after the boat and row
after the fyke, and finally was glad to get my net on dry land, where I
left it for a week in the sun. Then I hired a man to set it, and he did,
but he said it was "rotted." Nevertheless, in it I caught two small
flounders and an eel. At last a brace of Irishmen came down to my beach
for a swim at high tide. One of them, a stout, athletic fellow, after
performing sundry aquatic gymnastics, dived under and disappeared for a
fearful length of time. The truth is, he had dived into my net. After
much turmoil in the water, he rose to the surface with the filaments
hanging over his head, and cried out, as if he had found a bird's nest:
"I say, Jimmy! begorra, here's a foike!" That unfeeling exclamation to
Jimmy, who was not the owner of the net, made me almost wish that it had
not been "rotted."

We are worried about our cucumbers. Mrs. S. is fond of cucumbers, so I
planted enough for ten families. The more they are picked, the faster
they grow; and if you do not pick them, they turn yellow and look ugly.
Our neighbor has plenty, too. He sent us some one morning, by way of a
present. What to do with them we did not know, with so many of our own.
To give them away was not polite; to throw them away was sinful; to eat
them was impossible. Mrs. S. said, "Save them for seed." So we did. Next
day, our neighbor sent us a dozen more. We thanked the messenger grimly
and took them in. Next morning another dozen came. It was getting to be
a serious matter; so I rose betimes the following morning, and when my
neighbor's cuc