Michael Penguyne | Page 7

fish were to be caught in the waters of their little harbour. Most of them also cultivated patches of ground on the sides of the valley which opened out at the further end of the gorge, but, except potatoes, their fields afforded but precarious crops.
Paul and Michael had performed most of their destined task: the net had been spread along the rocks to dry, and two or three rents, caused by the fisherman's foes, some huge conger or cod-fish, had been repaired. A portion of their fish had been sold to Abel Mawgan, and the remainder had been salted for their own use, when Paul, who had been going about his work with less than his usual spirit, complained of pains in his back and limbs. Leaving Michael to clean out the boat and moor her, and to bring up the oars and other gear, he went into the cottage to lie down and rest.
Little perhaps did the strong and hardy fisherman suppose, as he threw himself on his bunk in the little chamber where he and Michael slept, that he should never again rise, and that his last trip on the salt sea had been taken--that for the last time he had hauled his nets, that his life's work was done. Yet he might have had some presentiment of what was going to happen as he sailed homewards that morning, when he resolved to tell Michael about his parents, and gave him the account of his father's death which has been described.
The young fisher boy went on board the "Wild Duck," and was busily employed in cleaning her out, thinking over what he had heard in the morning. Whilst thus engaged, he saw a small boat coming down from the head of the harbour towards him, pulled by a lad somewhat older than himself.
"There is Eban Cowan, the miller's son. I suppose he is coming here. I wonder what he wants?" he thought. "The `Polly' was out last night, and got a good haul, so it cannot be for fish."
Michael was right in supposing that Eban Cowan was coming to their landing-place. The lad in the punt pulled up alongside the "Wild Duck."
"How fares it with you, Michael?" he said, putting out his hand. "You did well this morning, I suspect, like most of us. Did Abel Mawgan buy all your `catch'? He took the whole of ours."
"No, granny and Nelly started off to Helston with their creels full, as they can get a much better price than Mawgan will give," answered Michael.
"I am sorry that Nelly is away, for I have brought her some shells I promised her a month ago. But as I have nothing to do, I will bide with you till she comes back."
"She and granny won't be back till late, I am afraid, and you lose your time staying here," said Michael.
"Never mind, I will lend you a hand," said Eban, making his punt fast, and stepping on board the "Wild Duck."
He was a fine, handsome, broad-shouldered lad, with dark eyes and hair, and with a complexion more like that of an inhabitant of the south than of an English boy.
He took up a mop as he spoke, whisking up the bits of seaweed and fish-scales which covered the bottom of the boat.
"Thank you," said Michael; "I won't ask you to stop, for I must go and turn in and get some sleep. Father does not seem very well, and I shall have more work in the evening."
"What is the matter with Uncle Paul?" asked Eban.
Michael told him that he had been complaining since the morning, but he hoped the night's rest would set him to rights.
"You won't want to go to sea to-night. It's blowing hard outside, and likely to come on worse," observed Eban.
Though he called Paul "uncle," there was no relationship. He merely used the term of respect common in Cornwall when a younger speaks of an older man.
Eban, however, did not take Michael's hint, but continued working away in the boat till she was completely put to rights.
"Now," he said, "I will help you up with the oars and sails. You have more than enough to do, it seems to me, for a small fellow like you."
"I am able to do it," answered Michael; "and I am thankful that I can."
"You live hard, though, and your father grows no richer," observed Eban. "If he did as others do, and as my father has advised him many a time, he would be a richer man, and you and your sister and Aunt Lanreath would not have to toil early and late, and wear the life out of you as you do. I hope you will be wiser."
"I know my father is right, whatever he does, and I hope to follow his