“Eh! how? what mean you?” exclaimed the officer, with an expression of surprise, for he knew that Ruby was now in his power.  “I have you safe, my lad, unless you have provided yourself with a pair of wings.  Of course, I shall leave one of you to take your boat into harbour, but you may be sure that I’ll not devolve that pleasant duty upon you.”

“I have not provided myself with wings exactly,” returned Ruby, pulling out his medal and ticket; “but here is something that will do quite as well”

The officer’s countenance fell, for he knew at once what it was.  He inspected it, however, closely.

“Let me see,” said he, reading the description on the ticket, which ran thus—­

BELL BOOK WORKYARD, ARBBOATH,
"20th June, 1810.

"Ruby Brand, seaman and blacksmith, in the service of the Honourable the Commissioners of the Northern Lighthouses, aged 25 years, 5 feet 10 inches high, very powerfully made, fair complexion, straight nose, dark-blue eyes, and curling auburn hair,”

This description was signed by the engineer of the works; and on the obverse was written, "The bearer, Ruby Brand, is serving as a blacksmith in the erection of the Bell Rock Lighthouse."

“This is all very well, my fine fellow,” said the officer, “but I have been deceived more than once with these medals and tickets.  How am I to know that you have not stolen it from someone?”

“By seeing whether the description agrees,” replied Ruby.

“Of course, I know that as well as you, and I don’t find the description quite perfect.  I would say that your hair is light-brown, now, not auburn, and your nose is a little Roman, if anything; and there’s no mention of whiskers, or that delicate moustache.  Why, look here,” he added, turning abruptly to Big Swankie, “this might be the description of your comrade as well as, if not better than, yours.  What’s your name?”

“Swankie, sir,” said that individual ruefully, yet with a gleam of hope that the advantages of the Bell Rock medal might possibly, in some unaccountable way, accrue to himself, for he was sharp enough to see that the officer would be only too glad to find any excuse for securing Ruby.

“Well, Swankie, stand up, and let’s have a look at you,” said the officer, glancing from the paper to the person of the fisherman, and commenting thereon.  “Here we have ’very powerfully made’—­no mistake about that—­strong as Samson; ’fair complexion’—­that’s it exactly; ’auburn hair’—­so it is.  Auburn is a very undecided colour; there’s a great deal of red in it, and no one can deny that Swankie has a good deal of red in his hair.”

There was indeed no denying this, for it was altogether red, of an intense carroty hue.

“You see, friend,” continued the officer, turning to Ruby, “that the description suits Swankie very well.”

“True, as far as you have gone,” said Ruby, with a quiet smile; “but Swankie is six feet two in his stockings, and his nose is turned up, and his hair don’t curl, and his eyes are light-green, and his complexion is sallow, if I may not say yellow——­”