The tide was half way out, and the rocks were already showing strange shaggy shapes as the water retreated from their weed-draped sides. A man, who had just beached his dory and had loaded his wheelbarrow with gaping cod and shining mackerel, stood looking off toward the cliffs for a moment before he should trundle his burden up the slanting path which led toward a group of white houses. "Look like buffaloes," he said to himself. "That furthest one's most like a lion." He turned his gaze from the rocks to the pile of fish in his barrow. "You poor miserable wide-mouthed critturs," he said. "There's nothing I know of that can look so down-at-mouth as a fish out of water. Every day I think I'l…
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