They had not walked more than a few minutes when they were joined by Jamie Dove, who announced breakfast, and proceeded to take two or three turns by way of cooling himself. Thereafter the party returned to the kitchen, where they sat down to as good a meal as any reasonable man could desire.

There was cold boiled beef—the remains of yesterday's dinner—and a bit of broiled cod, a native of the Bell Rock, caught from the doorway at high water the day before. There was tea also, and toast—buttered toast, hot out of the oven.

Dove was peculiarly good at what may be styled toast-cooking. Indeed, all the lightkeepers were equally good. The bread was cut an inch thick, and butter was laid on as plasterers spread plaster with a trowel. There was no scraping off a bit here to put it on there; no digging out pieces from little caverns in the bread with the point of the knife; no repetition of the work to spread it thinner, and, above all, no omitting of corners and edges;—no, the smallest conceivable fly could not have found the minutest atom of dry footing on a Bell Rock slice of toast, from its centre to its circumference. Dove had a liberal heart, and he laid on the butter with a liberal hand. Fair play and no favour was his motto, quarter-inch thick was his gauge, railway speed his practice. The consequence was that the toast floated, as it were, down the throats of the men, and compensated to some extent for the want of milk in the tea.

"Now, boys, sit in," cried Dove, seizing the teapot.

"We have not much variety," observed Dumsby to Ruby, in an apologetic tone.

"Variety!" exclaimed Forsyth, "what d'ye call that?" pointing to the fish.

"Well, that is a hextra morsel, I admit," returned Joe; "but we don't get that every day; 'owsever, wot there is is good, an' there's plenty of it, so let's fall to."

Forsyth said grace, and then they all "fell to", with appetites peculiar to that isolated and breezy spot, where the wind blows so fresh from the open sea that the nostrils inhale culinary odours, and the palates seize culinary products, with unusual relish.

There was something singularly unfeminine in the manner in which the duties of the table were performed by these stalwart guardians of the Rock. We are accustomed to see such duties performed by the tender hands of woman, or, it may be, by the expert fingers of trained landsmen; but in places where woman may not or can not act with propriety,—as on shipboard, or in sea-girt towers,—men go through such feminine work in a way that does credit to their versatility,—also to the strength of culinary materials and implements.

The way in which Jamie Dove and his comrades knocked about the pans, teapots, cups and saucers, etcetera, without smashing them, would have astonished, as well as gratified, the hearts of the fraternity of tinsmiths and earthenware manufacturers.

We have said that everything in the lighthouse was substantial and very strong. All the woodwork was oak, the floors and walls of solid stone,—hence, when Dove, who had no nerves or physical feelings, proceeded with his cooking, the noise he caused was tremendous. A man used to woman's gentle ways would, on seeing him poke the fire, have expected that the poker would certainly penetrate not only the coals, but the back of the grate also, and perchance make its appearance at the outside of the building itself, through stones, joggles, dovetails, trenails, pozzolano mortar, and all the strong materials that have withstood the fury of winds and waves for the last half-century!

Dove treated the other furniture in like manner; not that he treated it ill,—we would not have the reader imagine this for a moment. He was not reckless of the household goods. He was merely indifferent as to the row he made in using them.

But it was when the cooking was over, and the table had to be spread, that the thing culminated. Under the impulse of lightheartedness, caused by the feeling that his labours for the time were nearly ended, and that his reward was about to be reaped, he went about with irresistible energy, like the proverbial bull in a china shop, without reaching that creature's destructive point. It was then that a beaming smile overspread his countenance, and he raged about the kitchen with Vulcan-like joviality. He pulled out the table from the wall to the centre of the apartment, with a swing that produced a prolonged crash. Up went its two leaves with two minor crashes. Down went the four plates and the cups and saucers, with such violence and rapidity that they all seemed to be dancing on the board together. The beef all but went over the side of its dish by reason of the shock of its sudden stoppage on touching the table, and the pile of toast was only saved from scatteration by the strength of the material, so to speak, with which its successive layers were cemented.

When the knives, forks, and spoons came to be laid down, the storm seemed to lull, because these were comparatively light implements, so that this period—which in shore-going life is usually found to be the exasperating one—was actually a season of relief. But it was always followed by a terrible squall of scraping wooden legs and clanking human feet when the camp-stools were set, and the men came in and sat down to the meal.

The pouring out of the tea, however, was the point that would have called forth the admiration of the world—had the world seen it. What a contrast between the miserable, sickly, slow-dribbling silver and other teapots of the land, and this great teapot of the sea! The Bell Rock teapot had no sham, no humbug about it. It was a big, bold-looking one, of true Britannia metal, with vast internal capacity and a gaping mouth.

Dove seized it in his strong hand as he would have grasped his biggest fore-hammer. Before you could wink, a sluice seemed to burst open; a torrent of rich brown tea spouted at your cup, and it was full—the saucer too, perhaps—in a moment.

But why dwell on these luxurious scenes? Reader, you can never know them from experience unless you go to visit the Bell Rock; we will therefore cease to tantalise you.

During breakfast it was discussed whether or not the signal-ball should be hoisted.

The signal-ball was fixed to a short staff on the summit of the lighthouse, and the rule was that it should be hoisted at a fixed hour every morning when all was well, and kept up until an answering signal should be made from a signal-tower in Arbroath where the keepers' families dwelt, and where each keeper in succession spent a fortnight with his family, after a spell of six weeks on the rock. It was the duty of the keeper on shore to watch for the hoisting of the ball (the "All's well" signal) each morning on the lighthouse, and to reply to it with a similar ball on the signal-tower.

If, on any occasion, the hour for signalling should pass without the ball on the lighthouse being shown, then it was understood that something was wrong, and the attending boat of the establishment was sent off at once to ascertain the cause, and afford relief if necessary. The keeping down of the ball was, however, an event of rare occurrence, so that when it did take place the poor wives of the men on the rock were usually thrown into a state of much perturbation and anxiety, each naturally supposing that her husband must be seriously ill, or have met with a bad accident.

It was therefore natural that there should be some hesitation about keeping down the ball merely for the purpose of getting a boat off to send Ruby ashore.

"You see," said Forsyth, "the day after to-morrow the 'relief boat' is due, and it may be as well just to wait for that, Ruby, and then you can go ashore with your friend Jamie Dove, for it's his turn this time."

"Ay, lad, just make up your mind to stay another day," said the smith; "as they don't know you're here they can't be wearyin' for you, and I'll take ye an' introduce you to my little wife, that I fell in with on the cliffs of Arbroath not long after ye was kidnapped. Besides, Ruby, it'll do ye good to feed like a fighting cock out here another day. Have another cup o' tea?"

"An' a junk o' beef?" said Forsyth.

"An' a slice o' toast?" said Dumsby.

Ruby accepted all these offers, and soon afterwards the four friends descended to the rock, to take as much exercise as they could on its limited surface, during the brief period of low water that still remained to them.

It may easily be imagined that this ramble was an interesting one, and was prolonged until the tide drove them into their tower of refuge. Every rock, every hollow, called up endless reminiscences of the busy building seasons. Ruby went over it all step by step with somewhat of the feelings that influence a man when he revisits the scene of his childhood.

There was the spot where the forge had stood.

"D'ye mind it, lad?" said Dove. "There are the holes where the hearth was fixed, and there's the rock where you vaulted over the bellows when ye took that splendid dive after the fair-haired lassie into the pool yonder."

"Mind it? Ay, I should think so!"

Then there were the holes where the great beams of the beacon had been fixed, and the iron bats, most of which latter were still left in the rock, and some of which may be seen there at the present day. There was also the pool into which poor Selkirk had tumbled with the vegetables on the day of the first dinner on the rock, and that other pool into which Forsyth had plunged after the mermaids; and, not least interesting among the spots of note, there was the ledge, now named the "Last Hope", on which Mr Stevenson and his men had stood on the day when the boat had been carried away, and they had expected, but were mercifully preserved from, a terrible tragedy.

After they had talked much on all these things, and long before they were tired of it, the sea drove them to the rails; gradually, as it rose higher, it drove them into the lighthouse, and then each man went to his work—Jamie Dove to his kitchen, in order to clean up and prepare dinner, and the other two to the lantern, to scour and polish the reflectors, refill and trim the lamps, and, generally, to put everything in order for the coming night.

Ruby divided his time between the kitchen and lantern, lending a hand in each, but, we fear, interrupting the work more than he advanced it.

That day it fell calm, and the sun shone brightly.

"We'll have fog to-night," observed Dumsby to Brand, pausing in the operation of polishing a reflector, in which his fat face was mirrored with the most indescribable and dreadful distortions.

"D'ye think so?"

"I'm sure of it."

"You're right," remarked Forsyth, looking from his elevated position to the seaward horizon, "I can see it coming now."

"I say, what smell is that?" exclaimed Ruby, sniffing.

"Somethink burnin'," said Dumsby, also sniffing.

"Why, what can it be?" murmured Forsyth, looking round and likewise sniffing. "Hallo! Joe, look out; you're on fire!"

Joe started, clapped his hand behind him, and grasped his inexpressibles, which were smouldering warmly. Ruby assisted, and the fire was soon put out, amidst much laughter.

"'Ang them reflectors!" said Joe, seating himself, and breathing hard after his alarm and exertions; "it's the third time they've set me ablaze."

"The reflectors, Joe?" said Ruby.

"Ay, don't ye see? They've nat'rally got a focus, an' w'en I 'appen to be standin' on a sunny day in front of 'em, contemplatin' the face o' natur', as it wor, through the lantern panes, if I gits into the focus by haccident, d'ye see, it just acts like a burnin'-glass."

Ruby could scarcely believe this, but after testing the truth of the statement by actual experiment he could no longer doubt it.

Presently a light breeze sprang up, rolling the fog before it, and then dying away, leaving the lighthouse enshrouded.

During fog there is more danger to shipping than at any other time. In the daytime, in ordinary weather, rocks and lighthouses can be seen. At night, lights can be seen, but during fog nothing can be seen until danger may be too near to be avoided. The two great fog-bells of the lighthouse were therefore set a-going, and they rang out their slow deep-toned peal all that day and all that night, as the bell of the Abbot of Aberbrothoc is said to have done in days of yore.

That night Ruby was astonished, and then he was stunned! First, as to his astonishment. While he was seated by the kitchen fire chatting with his friend the smith, sometime between nine o'clock and midnight, Dumsby summoned him to the lantern to "help in catching to-morrow's dinner!"

Dove laughed at the summons, and they all went up.

The first thing that caught Ruby's eye at one of the window panes was the round visage of an owl, staring in with its two large eyes as if it had gone mad with amazement, and holding on to the iron frame with its claws. Presently its claws lost hold, and it fell off into outer darkness.

"What think ye o' that for a beauty?" said Forsyth.

Ruby's eyes, being set free from the fascination of the owl's stare, now made him aware of the fact that hundreds of birds of all kinds—crows, magpies, sparrows, tomtits, owls, larks, mavises, blackbirds, etcetera, etcetera—were fluttering round the lantern outside, apparently bent on ascertaining the nature of the wonderful light within.

"Ah! poor things," said Forsyth, in answer to Ruby's look of wonder, "they often visit us in foggy weather. I suppose they get out to sea in the fog and can't find their way back to land, and then some of them chance to cross our light and take refuge on it."

"Now I'll go out and get to-morrow's dinner," said Dumsby. He went out accordingly, and, walking round the balcony that encircled the base of the lantern, was seen to put his hand up and quietly take down and wring the necks of such birds as he deemed suitable for his purpose. It seemed a cruel act to Ruby, but when he came to think of it he felt that, as they were to be stewed at any rate, the more quickly they were killed the better!

He observed that the birds kept fluttering about, alighting for a few moments and flying off again, all the time that Dumsby was at work, yet Dumsby never failed to seize his prey.

Presently the man came in with a small basket full of game. "Now, Ruby," said he, "I'll bet a sixpence that you don't catch a bird within five minutes."

"I don't bet such large sums usually, but I'll try," said Ruby, going out.

He tried and failed. Just as the five minutes were expiring, however, the owl happened to alight before his nose, so he "nabbed" it, and carried it in triumphantly.

"That ain't a bird," said Dumsby.

"It's not a fish," retorted Ruby; "but how is it that you caught them so easily, and I found it so difficult?"

"Because, lad, you must do it at the right time. You watch w'en the focus of a revolvin' light is comin' full in a bird's face. The moment it does so 'e's dazzled, and you grab 'im. If you grab too soon or too late, 'e's away. That's 'ow it is, and they're capital heatin', as you'll find."

Thus much for Ruby's astonishment. Now for his being stunned.

Late that night the fog cleared away, and the bells were stopped. After a long chat with his friends, Ruby mounted to the library and went to bed. Later still the fog returned, and the bells were again set a-going. Both of them being within a few feet of Ruby's head, they awakened him with a bang that caused him to feel as if the room in which he lay were a bell and his own head the tongue thereof.

At first the sound was solemnising, then it was saddening. After a time it became exasperating, and then maddening. He tried to sleep, but he only tossed. He tried to meditate, but he only wandered—not "in dreams", however. He tried to laugh, but the laugh degenerated into a growl. Then he sighed, and the sigh ended in a groan. Finally, he got up and walked up and down the floor till his legs were cold, when he turned into bed again, very tired, and fell asleep, but not to rest—to dream.

He dreamt that he was at the forge again, and that he and Dove were trying to smash their anvils with the sledge-hammers—bang and bang about. But the anvil would not break. At last he grew desperate, hit the horn off, and then, with another terrific blow, smashed the whole affair to atoms!

This startled him a little, and he awoke sufficiently to become aware of the fog-bells.

Again he dreamed. Minnie was his theme now, but, strange to say, he felt little or no tenderness towards her. She was beset by a hundred ruffians in pea-jackets and sou'westers. Something stirred him to madness. He rushed at the foe, and began to hit out at them right and left. The hitting was slow, but sure—regular as clock-work. First the right, then the left, and at each blow a seaman's nose was driven into his head, and a seaman's body lay flat on the ground. At length they were all floored but one—the last and the biggest. Ruby threw all his remaining strength into one crashing blow, drove his fist right through his antagonist's body, and awoke with a start to find his knuckles bleeding.

"Hang these bells!" he exclaimed, starting up and gazing round him in despair. Then he fell back on his pillow in despair, and went to sleep in despair.

Once more he dreamed. He was going to church now, dressed in a suit of the finest broadcloth, with Minnie on his arm, clothed in pure white, emblematic, it struck him, of her pure gentle spirit. Friends were with him, all gaily attired, and very happy, but unaccountably silent. Perhaps it was the noise of the wedding-bells that rendered their voices inaudible. He was struck by the solemnity as well as the pertinacity of these wedding-bells as he entered the church. He was puzzled too, being a Presbyterian, why he was to be married in church, but being a man of liberal mind, he made no objection to it.

They all assembled in front of the pulpit, into which the clergyman, a very reverend but determined man, mounted with a prayer book in his hand. Ruby was puzzled again. He had not supposed that the pulpit was the proper place, but modestly attributed this to his ignorance.

"Stop those bells!" said the clergyman, with stern solemnity; but they went on.

"Stop them, I say!" he roared in a voice of thunder.

The sexton, pulling the ropes in the middle of the church, paid no attention.

Exasperated beyond endurance, the clergyman hurled the prayer book at the sexton's head, and felled him! Still the bells went on of their own accord.

"Stop! sto-o-o-op! I say," he yelled fiercely, and, hitting the pulpit with his fist, he split it from top to bottom.

Minnie cried "Shame!" at this, and from that moment the bells ceased.

Whether it was that the fog-bells ceased at that time, or that Minnie's voice charmed Ruby's thoughts away, we cannot tell, but certain it is that the severely tried youth became entirely oblivious of everything. The marriage-party vanished with the bells; Minnie, alas, faded away also; finally, the roar of the sea round the Bell Rock, the rock itself, its lighthouse and its inmates, and all connected with it, faded from the sleeper's mind, and:—

"Like the baseless fabric of a vision Left not a wrack behind."



CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

CONCLUSION.

Facts are facts; there is no denying that. They cannot be controverted; nothing can overturn them, or modify them, or set them aside. There they stand in naked simplicity; mildly contemptuous alike of sophists and theorists.

Immortal facts! Bacon founded on you; Newton found you out; Dugald Stewart and all his fraternity reasoned on you, and followed in your wake. What would this world be without facts? Rest assured, reader, that those who ignore facts and prefer fancies are fools. We say it respectfully. We have no intention of being personal, whoever you may be.

On the morning after Ruby was cast on the Bell Rock, our old friend Ned O'Connor (having been appointed one of the lighthouse-keepers, and having gone for his fortnight ashore in the order of his course) sat on the top of the signal-tower at Arbroath with a telescope at his eye directed towards the lighthouse, and became aware of a fact,—a fact which seemed to be contradicted by those who ought to have known better.

Ned soliloquised that morning. His soliloquy will explain the circumstances to which we refer; we therefore record it here. "What's that? Sure there's something wrong wid me eye intirely this mornin'. Howld on," (he wiped it here, and applying it again to the telescope, proceeded); "wan, tshoo, three, four! No mistake about it. Try agin. Wan, tshoo, three, FOUR! An' yet the ball's up there as cool as a cookumber, tellin' a big lie; ye know ye are," continued Ned, apostrophising the ball, and readjusting the glass. "There ye are, as bold as brass—av ye're not copper—tellin' me that everythin's goin' on as usual, whin I can see with me two eyes (one after the other) that there's four men on the rock, whin there should be only three! Well, well," continued Ned, after a pause, and a careful examination of the Bell Rock, which being twelve miles out at sea could not be seen very distinctly in its lower parts, even through a good glass, "the day afther to-morrow'll settle the question, Misther Ball, for then the Relief goes off, and faix, if I don't guv' ye the lie direct I'm not an Irishman."

With this consolatory remark, Ned O'Connor descended to the rooms below, and told his wife, who immediately told all the other wives and the neighbours, so that ere long the whole town of Arbroath became aware that there was a mysterious stranger, a fourth party, on the Bell Rock!

Thus it came to pass that, when the relieving boat went off, numbers of fishermen and sailors and others watched it depart in the morning, and increased numbers of people of all sorts, among whom were many of the old hands who had wrought at the building of the lighthouse, crowded the pier to watch its return in the afternoon.

As soon as the boat left the rock, those who had "glasses" announced that there was an "extra man in her."

Speculation remained on tiptoe for nearly three hours, at the end of which time the boat drew near.

"It's a man, anyhow," observed Captain Ogilvy, who was one of those near the outer end of the pier.

"I say," observed his friend the "leftenant", who was looking through a telescope, "if—that's—not—Ruby—Brand—I'll eat my hat without sauce!"

"You don't mean—let me see," cried the captain, snatching the glass out of his friend's hand, and applying it to his eye. "I do believe!—yes! it is Ruby, or his ghost!"

By this time the boat was near enough for many of his old friends to recognise him, and Ruby, seeing that some of the faces were familiar to him, rose in the stern of the boat, took off his hat and waved it.

This was the signal for a tremendous cheer from those who knew our hero; and those who did not know him, but knew that there was something peculiar and romantic in his case, and in the manner of his arrival, began to cheer from sheer sympathy; while the little boys, who were numerous, and who love to cheer for cheering's sake alone, yelled at the full pitch of their lungs, and waved their ragged caps as joyfully as if the King of England were about to land upon their shores!

The boat soon swept into the harbour, and Ruby's friends, headed by Captain Ogilvy, pressed forward to receive and greet him. The captain embraced him, the friends surrounded him, and almost pulled him to pieces; finally, they lifted him on their shoulders, and bore him in triumphal procession to his mother's cottage.

And where was Minnie all this time? She had indeed heard the rumour that something had occurred at the Bell Rock; but, satisfied from what she heard that it would be nothing very serious, she was content to remain at home and wait for the news. To say truth, she was too much taken up with her own sorrows and anxieties to care as much for public matters as she had been wont to do.

When the uproarious procession drew near, she was sitting at Widow Brand's feet, "comforting her" in her usual way.

Before the procession turned the corner of the street leading to his mother's cottage, Ruby made a desperate effort to address the crowd, and succeeded in arresting their attention.

"Friends, friends!" he cried, "it's very good of you, very kind; but my mother is old and feeble; she might be hurt if we were to come on her in this fashion. We must go in quietly."

"True, true," said those who bore him, letting him down, "so, good day, lad; good day. A shake o' your flipper; give us your hand; glad you're back, Ruby; good luck to 'ee, boy!"

Such were the words, followed by three cheers, with which his friends parted from him, and left him alone with the captain.

"We must break it to her, nephy," said the captain, as they moved towards the cottage.

"'Still so gently o'er me stealin', Memory will bring back the feelin'.'

"It won't do to go slap into her, as a British frigate does into a French line-o'-battle ship. I'll go in an' do the breakin' business, and send out Minnie to you."

Ruby was quite satisfied with the captain's arrangement, so, when the latter went in to perform his part of this delicate business, the former remained at the door-post, expectant.

"Minnie, lass, I want to speak to my sister," said the captain, "leave us a bit—and there's somebody wants to see you outside."

"Me, uncle!"

"Ay, you; look alive now."

Minnie went out in some surprise, and had barely crossed the threshold when she found herself pinioned in a strong man's arms! A cry escaped her as she struggled, for one instant, to free herself; but a glance was sufficient to tell who it was that held her. Dropping her head on Ruby's breast, the load of sorrow fell from her heart. Ruby pressed his lips upon her forehead, and they both rested there.

It was one of those pre-eminently sweet resting-places which are vouchsafed to some, though not to all, of the pilgrims of earth, in their toilsome journey through the wilderness towards that eternal rest, in the blessedness of which all minor resting-places shall be forgotten, whether missed or enjoyed by the way.

Their rest, however, was not of long duration, for in a few minutes the captain rushed out, and exclaiming "she's swounded, lad," grasped Ruby by the coat and dragged him into the cottage, where he found his mother lying in a state of insensibility on the floor.

Seating himself by her side on the floor, he raised her gently, and placing her in a half-sitting, half-reclining position in his lap, laid her head tenderly on his breast. While in this position Minnie administered restoratives, and the widow, ere long opened her eyes and looked up. She did not speak at first, but, twining her arms round Ruby's neck, gazed steadfastly into his face; then, drawing him closer to her heart, she fervently exclaimed "Thank God!" and laid her head down again with a deep sigh.

She too had found a resting-place by the way on that day of her pilgrimage.

————————————————————————————————————

Now, reader, we feel bound to tell you in confidence that there are few things more difficult than drawing a story to a close! Our tale is done, for Ruby is married to Minnie, and the Bell Rock Lighthouse is finished, and most of those who built it are scattered beyond the possibility of reunion. Yet we are loath to shake hands with them and to bid you farewell.

Nevertheless, so it must be, for if we were to continue the narrative of the after-careers of our friends of the Bell Rock, the books that should be written would certainly suffice to build a new lighthouse.

But we cannot make our bow without a parting word or two.

Ruby and Minnie, as we have said, were married. They lived in the cottage with their mother, and managed to make it sufficiently large to hold them all by banishing the captain into the scullery.

Do not suppose that this was done heartlessly, and without the captain's consent. By no means. That worthy son of Neptune assisted at his own banishment. In fact, he was himself the chief cause of it, for when a consultation was held after the honeymoon, as to "what was to be done now," he waved his hand, commanded silence, and delivered himself as follows:—

"Now, shipmates all, give ear to me, an' don't ventur' to interrupt. It's nat'ral an' proper, Ruby, that you an' Minnie and your mother should wish to live together; as the old song says, 'Birds of a feather flock together,' an' the old song's right; and as the thing ought to be, an' you all want it to be, so it shall be. There's only one little difficulty in the way, which is, that the ship's too small to hold us, by reason of the after-cabin bein' occupied by an old seaman of the name of Ogilvy. Now, then, not bein' pigs, the question is, what's to be done? I will answer that question: the seaman of the name of Ogilvy shall change his quarters."

Observing at this point that both Ruby and his bride opened their mouths to speak, the captain held up a threatening finger, and sternly said, "Silence!" Then he proceeded—

"I speak authoritatively on this point, havin' conversed with the seaman Ogilvy, and diskivered his sentiments. That seaman intends to resign the cabin to the young couple, and to hoist his flag for the futur' in the fogs'l."

He pointed, in explanation, to the scullery; a small, dirty-looking apartment off the kitchen, which was full of pots and pans and miscellaneous articles of household, chiefly kitchen, furniture.

Ruby and Minnie laughed at this, and the widow looked perplexed, but perfectly happy and at her ease, for she knew that whatever arrangement the captain should make, it would be agreeable in the end to all parties.

"The seaman Ogilvy and I," continued the captain, "have gone over the fogs'l" (meaning the forecastle) "together, and we find that, by the use of mops, buckets, water, and swabs, the place can be made clean. By the use of paper, paint, and whitewash, it can be made respectable; and, by the use of furniture, pictures, books, and 'baccy, it can be made comfortable. Now, the question that I've got to propound this day to the judge and jury is—Why not?"

Upon mature consideration, the judge and jury could not answer "why not?" therefore the thing was fixed and carried out and the captain thereafter dwelt for years in the scullery, and the inmates of the cottage spent so much of their time in the scullery that it became, as it were, the parlour, or boudoir, or drawing-room of the place. When, in course of time, a number of small Brands came to howl and tumble about the cottage, they naturally gravitated towards the scullery, which then virtually became the nursery, with a stout old seaman, of the name of Ogilvy, usually acting the part of head nurse. His duties were onerous, by reason of the strength of constitution, lungs, and muscles of the young Brands, whose ungovernable desire to play with that dangerous element from which heat is evolved, undoubtedly qualified them for the honorary title of Fire-Brands.

With the proceeds of the jewel-case Ruby bought a little coasting vessel, with which he made frequent and successful voyages. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder," no doubt, for Minnie grew fonder of Ruby every time he went away, and every time he came back. Things prospered with our hero, and you may be sure that he did not forget his old friends of the lighthouse. On the contrary, he and his wife became frequent visitors at the signal-tower, and the families of the lighthouse-keepers felt almost as much at home in "the cottage" as they did in their own houses. And each keeper, on returning from his six weeks' spell on the rock to take his two weeks' spell at the signal-tower, invariably made it his first business, after kissing his wife and children, to go up to the Brands and smoke a pipe in the scullery with that eccentric old seafaring nursery-maid of the name of Ogilvy.

In time Ruby found it convenient to build a top flat on the cottage, and above this a small turret, which overlooked the opposite houses, and commanded a view of the sea. This tower the captain converted into a point of lookout, and a summer smoking-room,—and many a time and oft, in the years that followed, did he and Ruby climb up there about nightfall, to smoke the pipe of peace, with Minnie beside them, and to watch the bright flashing of the red and white light on the Bell Rock, as it shone over the waters far and wide, like a star of the first magnitude, a star of hope and safety, guiding sailors to their desired haven; perchance reminding them of that star of Bethlehem which guided the shepherds to Him who is the Light of the World and the Rock of Ages.

THE END