deep, irregular drumming started up ahead, like horses running confusedly across a bridge, or empty trucks rumbling over a stony road.
"What's that?" said Archer.
"They 're spudgin'," replied Peter, from the stern. "Show him, boy."
The youngster began jumping his oars about on the gunwale. The boats astern took it up, till the wide air rumbled with the heavy drumming and the echoes of the cliffs.
"It 'll make 'em rise," Peter explained. "You take the oars, sir, and Hippolyte, you come down stern here. I 'll go in the bow."
They crawled past each other over the thwarts. Archer soon caught the knack of drumming and rowing by turns. The boy pounded the sides with both fists.
"See," called Peter suddenly. "There's some."
The water was stirred into millions of tiny golden globules; golden streaks shot in crisscross multitudes, like tiny comets smothered in deep sea. Peter plied his dip-net swiftly. With a swash and a thump, some
