“What made ’em upset?” asked Laddie.

“Rough water.  There’s going to be a storm and the ocean gets rough just before that,” George explained.

The children watched the men swimming about the overturned boat, and noticed that the water all about them was filled with floating, dead fish.

“Did the men kill the fish when they upset?” asked Violet.

“No, the men got the fish out of their nets,” explained George, who had been at the seashore every summer that he could remember.  “There are the nets out where you see those poles,” and he pointed to a place about a half mile off shore.  “The men go out there in a big motor-boat,” he went on, “and pull up the net.  They empty the fish into the bottom of the boat and then they come ashore.  They put the fish in barrels with a lot of ice and send them to New York.

“But sometimes when the boat tries to come up on the beach with the men and a load of fish in it the waves in the surf are so big that the boat upsets.  That’s what this one did.  I was watching it and I saw it.  Then I came to tell you, ’cause I saw you playing on the sand.”

“I’m glad you did,” said Russ.  “I’m sorry the men got upset, but I like to see ’em.”

“So am I. Will they lose all their fish?” demanded Laddie.

“Most of ’em,” said George.  “They can scoop up some in nets, I guess, but a lot that wasn’t quite dead swam away and the waves took the others out to sea.  The fish hawks will get ’em and lots of boys and men are taking fish home.  The fishermen can’t save ’em all and when a boat upsets anybody that wants to, keeps the fish.”

After hard work the men who had been tossed into the water when the boat went over managed to get it right side up again.  Then a rope was made fast to it and horses on shore, pulling on the cable, hauled the boat up out of reach of the waves, where it would stay until it was time to make another trip to the nets.

“Could we take some of the fish?” asked Russ of George.

“Oh, yes, as many as you like,” said his friend.  “The fishermen can never pick them all up.”

So the six little Bunkers each picked up a fish and took it home to Cousin Ruth.  They were nice and fresh and she cooked them for dinner.

“Well, you youngsters had better luck than Cousin Tom and I had,” said Daddy Bunker with a laugh as he saw what Russ and the others had picked up.  “I guess, after this, we’ll take you fishing with us.”

The promise of the storm brought by the big waves that upset the fishing-boat, came true.  That night the wind began to rise and to blow with a howling and mournful sound about the bungalow.  But inside it was cosy and light.

In the morning, when the children awakened, it was raining hard, the drops dashing against the windows as though they wanted to break the glass and get inside.

“Is the sea very rough now, Daddy?” asked Russ after breakfast.