“Well, we can’t get used to do without sleep,” said Forsyth, stepping down through the trapdoor, “so I’ll bid ye all good night.”

“’Old on!  Tell Ruby about Junk before ye go,” cried Dumsby.  “Ah! well, I’ll tell ’im myself.  You must know, Ruby, that we’ve got what they calls an hoccasional light-keeper ashore, who larns the work out ’ere in case any of us reg’lar keepers are took ill, so as ’e can supply our place on short notice.  Well, ’e was out ‘ere larnin’ the dooties one tremendous stormy night, an’ the poor fellow was in a mortial fright for fear the lantern would be blowed right hoff the top o’ the stone column, and ’imself along with it.  You see, the door that covers the manhole there is usually shut when we’re on watch, but Junk (we called ’im Junk ’cause ‘e wos so like a lump o’ fat pork), ‘e kep the door open all the time an’ sat close beside it, so as to be ready for a dive.  Well, it was my turn to watch, so I went up, an’ just as I puts my fut on the first step o’ the lantern-ladder there comes a sea like wot we had a minit ago; the wind at the same time roared in the wentilators like a thousand fiends, and the spray dashed agin the glass.  Junk gave a yell, and dived.  He thought it wos all over with ’im, and wos in sich a funk that he came down ’ead foremost, and would sartinly ’ave broke ’is neck if ’e ’adn’t come slap into my buzzum!  I tell ’e it was no joke, for ’e wos fourteen stone if ’e wos an ounce, an’——­”

“Come along, Ruby,” said Dove, interrupting; “the sooner we dive too the better, for there’s no end to that story when Dumsby get off in full swing.  Good night!”

“Good night, lads, an’ better manners t’ye!” said Joe, as he sat down beside the little desk where the lightkeepers were wont during the lonely watch-hours of the night to read, or write, or meditate.

CHAPTER XXXII

EVERYDAY LIFE ON THE BELL ROCK, AND OLD MEMORIES RECALLED

The sun shone brightly over the sea next morning; so brightly and powerfully that it seemed to break up and disperse by force the great storm-clouds which hung about the sky, like the fragments of an army of black bullies who had done their worst and been baffled.

The storm was over; at least, the wind had moderated down to a fresh, invigorating breeze.  The white crests of the billows were few and far between, and the wild turmoil of waters had given place to a grand procession of giant waves, that thundered on the Bell Rock Lighthouse, at once with more dignity and more force than the raging seas of the previous night.