Rob was a quick-witted lad, and soon formed the plan of rigging
up a couple of guy poles, as the salmon fishers call them, one
for each end of the small seine he had in view. These guy poles,
with a lump of lead at the lower end, would keep the net vertical
while it was being dragged through the water.
All this took up the best part of the afternoon; for he had to
hunt about before he could get a couple of stout poles; and he
had to bargain with the blacksmith for a lump of lead. Then he
walked along to the point where the other MacNicols were busy
fishing.
They had been lucky with their lines and bait. On the rocks
beside them lay two or three small codfish, a large flounder, two
good-sized lythe, and nearly a dozen saithe. Rob washed them
clean, put a string through their gills, and marched off with
them to the village.
He felt no shame in trying to sell fish: was it not the whole
trade of the village? So he walked into the grocer's shop.
"Will you buy some fish?" said he; "they're fresh."
The grocer looked at them.
"What do you want?"
"A ball of twine."
"Let me tell you this, Rob," said the grocer severely, "that a
lad in your place should be thinking of something else than
flying a kite."
"I don't want to fly a kite," said Rob, "I want to mend a net."
"Oh, that is quite different," said the grocer. So Rob had his
ball of twine--and a very large one it was. Off he set to his
companions. "Come away, boys, I have other work for you."