CHAPTER IX.

LOADING THE KELP.

With the first flush of dawn kindling the sky, Perce Bucklin opened his eyes in great bewilderment. But the sight of the sea, and the sand, and his two companions still asleep under their blankets, brought him quickly to his senses.

“‘Wake Nicodemus’!” he shouted, giving each a shake. “The tide is up! the wind is all right, and the kelp is landing! ‘Hurrah for the great jubilee’!”

Moke yawned a sleepy “hurrah!” while Poke, sitting up and rubbing his eyes open, made some complimentary reference to “Uncle Moses.”

“Uncle Moses was right,” Perce admitted. “Now we must have breakfast and be ready for work by the time the tide has gone down a little. Start up the fire while I go and see to the oxen.”

Rubbish had already been gathered, and left to dry about their camp-fire of the evening before. Moke produced some matches, while Poke prepared a wisp of hay for lighting. And now, completely awake, both sang, while Perce was starting off:

“‘Run and tell Elijah to hurry up Pomp, And meet us at the gum-tree down in the swamp, To wake Nicodemus to-day!’”

The sun came up gloriously over the ocean. It was a superb morning. The wind had gone down during the night, and only a gentle breeze was blowing. The receding tide left long rows and scattered heaps of kelp, rockweed, and other _algæ_ high on the beach.

The boys were in the gayest spirits. While the oxen were still feeding, and the fire getting in condition to roast corn and potatoes, Perce proposed that they should make the most of their time by gathering driftwood.

Then a question of equity arose. The twins thought it fair that all they both secured should be theirs; by which arrangement Perce could have expected to get no more than half as much for his share.

“But why not divide the floodwood the same as we do the seaweed?” he demanded—“Half and half.”

“Because your oxen——” began Moke.

“Don’t help,” added Poke.

“But they’re here on your account as much as they are on mine,” said Perce. “They’re giving their valuable time all the same, whether they help or not.”

“All right! what do you propose?” cried the twins.

“That we divide equally everything we find on the beach—driftwood, seaweed, no matter what,” Perce replied. “Half for you two, and half for me and the oxen.”

The twins agreed good-naturedly, and all set merrily to work. After gathering driftwood for a while, they dug out a place in the hot coals, into which they put their potatoes, wrapped in green sea-moss, and left them to cook. Then the corn was made ready and roasted on the ends of the sticks that had served the same purpose the night before, and at last came breakfast—which they ate with such appetites as I fear some boys who read this know nothing about.

“Won’t Olly be mad when he knows what he has missed?” cried Perce.

They all had to speak loud, to be heard above the sound of the surf.

“If he comes back by the coast——” said Moke.

“We shall see him,” said Poke. “I should think it was time.”

“It’s time to begin on the kelp!” Perce exclaimed, throwing away his last corn-cob, and springing up from his seat on the sand.

The ox-cart was brought around, and halted alongside the heaps of still dripping and glistening seaweed. The larger part of this was kelp, and the most valuable part in the estimation of farmers who make use of these products of the sea to enrich the land.

The kelp grows upon deep-sunken ledges, from which it is detached only by the agitations of great storms,—a weird sort of plant, which in still weather may sometimes be seen, far down, waving mysteriously, with every fluctuation of the tide, in the silent ocean depths. It is often of gigantic proportions, its slippery stems and great, glossy leaves measuring many yards in length. It frequently comes up with clusters of blue mussels and other shells clinging to its roots.

With the kelp, were mixed a tangled rockweed, eel-grass, and Irish moss; all of which the boys pitched on the cart together; Perce starting up the oxen now and then and stopping them again where the litter was thickest.

“How’s this for a devil’s apron?” cried Poke, struggling with an immense leaf of kelp, to which he merely gave the picturesque, popular name; for the twins were well-brought-up boys, who would not for anything have uttered a profane word.

It flopped salt water in his face as he was getting it on the cart; and then, as the oxen started forward, trailed its smooth, wet, snaky stem along the ground.

[Illustration: PERCE FINDS THE WATCH. (SEE NEXT PAGE.)]

“It’s ugly stuff to pitch,” said Moke, twisting the root in the tines of his fork to assist his brother.

“It’s strange that it always lands against the wind!” said Poke.

“I don’t see that it’s strange at all,” replied Perce. “The only things that the wind from the sea blows ashore are things afloat on the surface, like driftwood. It blows the surface water too, but that is all the time running back; and it carries with it things below the surface.”

“Of course! I know all about that!” said Poke.

“The under-tow,” suggested Moke.

“Well! it’s the under-tow that lands the kelp,” returned Perce. “It works both ways. When the wind blows off shore it blows the surface water back; and that brings up the under-current with the seaweed. That’s the way it is on our beaches.”

Moke and Poke knew the facts well enough; but Perce, who prided himself on being a rather intelligent boy, liked to explain things. He went on:

“There’s another thing you’ve noticed: how much warmer the water is sometimes when there’s a sea-breeze, than when it blows off the land; just the contrary of what you would expect.”

“I guess every fellow who goes in swimming much——” Moke began.

“Has noticed that,” Poke ended.

“It’s because the sea-breeze is cooler than the land-breeze,” said Moke.

“And that makes the water seem warm to you,” said Poke.

“There’s something besides that,” Perce replied. “It’s the surface water that is warmest; and the sea-breeze keeps that rolling on the beach. I’m speaking of sunny days; in cloudy weather there isn’t much difference. The sun warms the sand, and the sand warms the water. But a land-breeze blows it off, and brings up the cold under-current. Think of that the next time you go in swimming, and see if it isn’t so.”

The twins thought it strange he should know so much, as he had no Uncle Moses; he didn’t tell them he had got his lore from his father, who was one of the most intelligent farmers on the coast.

“I shouldn’t like to go in swimming here now!” said Poke, turning to look at the waves, still dark with rolling seaweed and sand.

“It’s wonderful,” said Perce, “how pure the ocean keeps, with all the dirt and things forever washing into it,—though it isn’t always so pure as it looks. Don’t you know that fishermen have to take up their gill-nets and dry ’em about every four days?”

“That’s to keep ’em from rotting,” said the twins.

“But what makes them rot?” returned Perce. “It isn’t the water; it’s what’s _in_ the water.”

“The slime,” said Moke.

“They come up all covered with slime,” said Poke.

“That slime,” Perce replied, “is all a kind of life. Drying kills it. But if the nets are left long in the water, it grows, and takes the life out of ’em; that’s what you call rotting. In a few days you can see fine green grass growing all over the twine. Then, how quick the bottom of a boat, or a rope left in the water, or a sunken anchor, gets coated with barnacles! The clearest sea water is swarming alive with things you can’t see!”