“Wow,” said Jack, “what a corking little place. That must be your home, Mr. Mitchell.”
“Right an’ so, right an’ so. ’Tis t’ place I built me when I first came ’ere nigh onto twenty years ago. But we won’t stop now, lads, even though ’tis dinner time. Ye see I been heyein’ hof them air clouds off hin t’ nor’east there. Hits a settin’ fer t’ blow, an’ I want t’ git some bait afore t’ waves git s’ ’igh es t’ make hit on’com’ft’bul fer t’ fish outen t’ hole Betsy Hanne. I’m goin’ hoff that air strip o’ sand there where t’ flounders ’angs hout. Flounders is fish as likes t’ nose ’round hin t’ mud fer their food an’ they honly lives hon sandy bottoms. You, lads, kin ’andle a line er two fer me, can’t ’e? Then, arter we get hour bait we’ll go ’ome an’ git somethin’ t’ eat. ’Ow’s that strike ’e?”
“Fine,” said Ray.
“I’ll be ready for the eats,” assured Jack.
For an hour the three in the Betsy Anne fished diligently. Each one handled two lines and was kept busy, for the flounders bit ravenously. But the fish were all small and it took a great many of them to fill the big box that Mitchell used to hold his trap bait. And in the meantime great gray storm clouds were gathering in the northeast and the wind was becoming higher every minute. The long rolling swell changed to choppy seas that made the little sloop dance about like a cockleshell, and the lads had difficulty in attending to their lines and maintaining their places in the boat at the same time.
Finally Old Mitchell announced that the seas were running a little too high for comfort, and since the bait box was nearly full he thought it best to up anchor and set sail for the cove where his cottage was located. This suggestion pleased both Jack and Ray for, to tell the truth, the bucking of the boat was getting really uncomfortable. Mitchell put his main sail up with a reef in it, which Ray helped him tie, and without a jib ran for the shelter of the little harbor in front of the cottage.
Inside the cove the wind seemed less fierce and the water less violent, and in a few moments the Betsy Anne reached the square mooring buoy to which she was fastened. It took but a few moments to make the little craft snug in her berth with her sails furled, and after this operation Mitchell and the lads rowed ashore in the dory.
Although the wind was blowing hard and rain occasionally spattered down, the lads found time to pause and admire the cottage and its surroundings before accepting Mitchell’s invitation to enter.
The old mariner had spent a great deal of time and labor about the place, from all appearances. There was a little dooryard in which had been cultivated the tiniest lawn the boys had ever seen. In the center of this was an old dory with bulging sides. This had been filled with earth and converted into a big flower box and over the gunwale flowers and trailing vines dangled in profusion. The cottage itself was painted white and looked unusually inviting, considering the present weather conditions.
Old Mitchell led the way into his little dwelling and immediately set about preparing a dinner from his well-stocked pantry shelves, while the boys inspected his quarters. There were but two rooms to the cottage, the largest of which was kitchen, dining-room and living-room all in one. But, though the apartment served these many purposes, it was scrupulously clean, and resembled very much Captain Eli’s cottage over at the lighthouse.