flopping, resisting
flounder.

"The tide isn't right," he declared after a few minutes when no bite came
to take the bait. "I'm going to cast off and pull a little way down shore
over the flats. They'll be sure to bite there. You girls sit still. You
can troll your lines if you want to. You may catch something."

So Anne and Amanda sat very still while Amos sprang ashore, untied the
rope from the stout post sunk in the beach, pushed the boat into deeper
water, and jumped in as it floated clear from the shore.

It was a big, clumsy boat, and the oars were heavy; but Amos was a stout
boy of twelve used to boats and he handled the oars very skilfully.

"The tide's just turning," he said; "'twill take us down shore without
much rowing."

"But 'twill be hard coming back," suggested Amanda.

"Pooh! Hard! I guess I could row through any water in this harbor,"
bragged Amos, bending to his oar so lustily that he broke one of the
wooden thole-pins, unshipped his oar, and went over backward into the
bottom of the boat, losing his hold on the oar as he fell. He scrambled
quickly back to his seat, and endeavored to swing the dory about with one
oar so that he could reach the one now floating rapidly away. But he could
not get within reach of it.

"You girls move forward," he commanded; "I'll have to scull," and moving
cautiously to the stern of the boat he put his remaining oar in the notch
cut for it and began to move it regularly back and forth.

"Are you going inshore, Amos?" questioned his sister.

"What for?" asked the boy. "I've got one good oar, haven't I? We can go
along first-rate."

"It's too bad to lose a good oar," said Amanda.

"Father won't care," said Amos reassuringly; "'twa'n't a good oar. The
blade was split; 'twas liable to harm somebody. He'll not worry at losing
it."

The dory went along very smoothly under Amos's sculling and with the aid
of the tide. Amanda and Anne, their lines trailing overboard, watched
eagerly for a bite, and before long Anne had pulled in a good-sized
plaice, much to Amos's satisfaction. He drew in his oar to help her take
out the hook, and had just completed this task when Amanda called out:

"Amos! Amos! the oar's slipping!"

The boy turned quickly and grabbed at the vanishing oar, but he was too
late--it had slid into the water. They were now some distance from shore
and the tide was setting strongly toward the mouth of the harbor. Amos
looked after the oar and both of