Some fisher boys were lying asleep, like dogs basking in the heat; and a knot of lads, sitting under the shade of a boat, were discussing with some warmth the question of smuggling.
"What do you say to it, Jim Walsham ?" one of the party said, looking up at a boy some twelve years old, who was leaning against a boat, but who had hitherto taken no part in the discussion.
"There is no doubt that it's wrong," the boy said.

"Not wrong like stealing, and lying, and that sort of thing; still it's wrong, because it's against the law; and the revenue men, if they come upon a gang landing the tubs, fight with them, and if any are killed they are not blamed for it, so there is no doubt about its being wrong.

Then, on the other hand, no one thinks any the worse of the men that do it, and there is scarce a one, gentle or simple, as won't buy some of the stuff if he gets a chance, so it can't be so very wrong.

It must be great fun to be a smuggler, to be always dodging the king's cutters, and running cargoes under the nose of the officers ashore.

There is some excitement in a life like that." "There is plenty of excitement in fishing," one of the boys said sturdily.