"Oh, no, it wasn't," cried Bob; "an accident's where you can't help it--where a boat upsets, or a horse falls down, or a wheel falls off, or you slip over the edge of the cliff." "Well, that was an accident too," I said; "wasn't he nearly drowned ?" "No," cried Bob, "not nearly; and how could it be an accident when he crept into the hole, and turned round and stuck fast when he tried to get out ?" It was of no use to argue with Bob that morning, as we three ran down to the shore after finding that old Uggleston's lugger was at sea, crushing the weed under our feet, and enjoying the curious salt smell that ascended to our nostrils.

We had another net, and a big basket, borrowed of our Sam.

It was not so handy as our old ones, for two of us had to carry it; but as I said it would hold plenty, and we could lay a bit of old net over the prawns to keep them from flicking themselves out.
"I don't believe we shall catch any to-day," said Bob, who was in one of his hedgehog fits, as Bigley used to call them.

But he was wrong, for after walking about a mile along the shore, so as to go right away from the cottages, the first pool we stopped at gave us three fine fat fellows.
In another we were more successful, and as we roamed: farther and farther away the better became our sport.
This time we went on past the Gap, and under the tremendous cliffs that kept the sun from shining down upon the shore in winter.

Then on and on with our numbers always increasing, for we passed very few pools that did not contain one prawn at least.
"I tell you what," said Bob, as we stopped to rest, net in hand; "we'll go to old Big's this afternoon, and get Mother Bonnet to boil the prawns, and then have a thorough good feast.