mmencement of operations for the new lighthouse.

It was a calm evening in the autumn 1756 when Teddy Maroon, smoking a
little black pipe, sauntered towards the residence of old John Potter.
On reaching the door he extinguished the little pipe by the summary
process of thrusting the point of his blunt forefinger into the bowl,
and deposited it hot in his vest pocket. His tap was answered by a
small servant girl, with a very red and ragged head of hair, who ushered
him into the presence of the aged couple. They were seated in the two
chairs--one on each side of the fireplace--which they might almost be
said to inhabit. Little Nora was stirring a few embers of coal into a
cheery flame, for she knew the old people loved the sight of the fire
even in summer. On a chair beside old Martha lay the open Bible, from
which Nora had been reading, and on old Martha's knee was the valued
dictionary, upside down as usual.

"Glad to see you, lad," said old John, with a pleasant smile as he
extended his hand; "it does us good to see you; it minds us so of old
times."

"Ah, then, I've got to tell 'ee what'll mind you more of owld times than
the mere sight o' me face," said Teddy, as he patted old Martha on the
shoulder and sat down beside her. "How are 'ee, owld ooman?"

"Ay," replied Martha in a tremulous voice, "you're uncommon like your
father--as like as two peas."

"Faix, av ye saw the dear owld gintleman now," said Teddy with a laugh,
"ye'd think there was a difference. Hows'ever, its o' no use repaitin'
me question, for any man could see that you're in the best o' health--
you're bloomin' like a cabbage rose."

The latter part of this complimentary speech was shouted into old
Martha's ear, and she responded by shaking her head and desiring the
flatterer to "go along."

"Well, John," said the visitor, turning to his father's old friend,
"you'll be glad to hear that I've been engaged to work at the new
lighthouse, an', moreover we've got fairly begun."

"You _don't_ say so," cried John Potter, with some of the old fire
sparkling in his eyes; "well, now, that is pleasant noos. Why, it makes
me a'most wish to be young again. Of course I heard that they've bin
hard at the preparations for a good while; but few people comes to see
me now; they think I'm too old to be interested in anything; I suppose;
an' I didn't know that it was fairly begun, or that you were on the
work: I'd like to hear what your old father would s