J. J. Bell

“ Thonder a man catched a fish!" said Macgregor, excitedly, half-rising.
"Keep yer sate, dearie," said his mother, smiling with recovered good-nature, as she laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.
"Paw, can I get flingin' in the anchor?"
For once in his life John said "No!"
"Whit wey, Paw? I wud mak' a graun' splash!"
"Na, na, Macgreegor," put in Lizzie. "The anchor's a dangerous thing. There wis yinst twa laddies oot in a boat, and yin o' them wis castin' the anchor, an' he gaed ower wi' 't an' wis cairrit down to the bottom o' the sea, an' droondit. Ay!" ”

“ The baits is awfu' slippy, Paw."
"See an' no' let the hooks catch yer fingers."
"Nae fears, Paw!" sang out Macgregor, who had already bated one hook with a mussel and the other with one of the knees of his knickerbockers.
"John," sighed Lizzie, "I dinna like tichin' thae slithery beasts. Are they leevin'?"
"Na, na, wumman, they're no' leevin'. Jist bide a wee, an' I'll come an' bait yer line fur ye," returned John, cheerfully. He made the anchor rope fast, and came cautiously to tihe stern. "Whit's ado, Macgreegor?" ”

“ She was quite right. The smooth sea was quickly rippled, and within five minutes the ripples turned into little breakers.
"I want to catch anither yin, Paw," said Macgregor.
"I want to get hame," said Lizzie.
John obliged his wife. He pulled up the lines, then the anchor, and got out the oars. "We'll gang oot to the fishin' anither nicht," he said to his son. "It's gaun to be stormy."
"Ach!" ejaculated Macgregor, disgustedly.
••••••
"John," whispered Lizzie, when they were safely ashore, "it wis rale nice o' ye to let the laddie think he had catched the fish." ”