It was the solitary man, in the distant boat, indulging in the song of a fisherman.

The strains were sweet, and the intonations plaintive to melancholy.

The air was common to all who plied the oar in the canals, and familiar to the ear of the listener.

He waited until the close of a verse had died away, and then he answered with a strain of his own.

The alternate parts were thus maintained until the music ceased, by the two singing a final verse in chorus.
When the song was ended, the oar of the gondolier stirred the water again, and he was quickly by the other's side.
"Thou art busy with thy hook betimes, Antonio," said he who had just arrived, as he stepped into the boat of the old fisherman already so well known to the reader.