ch.

"Oh! Oliver, Oliver," said the old gentleman, on recovering some degree
of composure, "you should have lived in the days of good King Arthur,
and been one of the Knights of the Round Table. Knocked down Jim
Cuttance! What think'ee, Captain Dan?"

"I think," said the captain, still chuckling quietly, "that the less our
friend says about the matter the better for himself."

"Why so?" inquired Oliver quickly.

"Because," replied his uncle, with some return of gravity, "you have
assisted one of the most notorious smugglers that ever lived, to fight
his Majesty's coastguard--that's all. What say you, Molly--shall we
convict Oliver on his own confession?"

The good lady thus appealed to admitted that it was a serious matter,
but urged that as Oliver did the thing in ignorance and out of
gratitude, he ought to be forgiven.

"_I_ think he ought to be forgiven for having knocked down Jim
Cuttance," said Captain Dan.

"Is he then so notorious?" asked Oliver.

"Why, he is the most daring smuggler on the coast," replied Captain Dan,
"and has given the preventive men more trouble than all the others put
together. In fact, he is a man who deserves to be hanged, and will
probably come to his proper end ere long, if not shot in a brawl
beforehand."

"I fear he stands some chance of it now," said Mr Donnithorne, with a
sigh, "for he has been talking of erecting a battery near his den at
Prussia Cove, and openly defying the Government men."

"You seem to differ from Captain Dan, uncle, in reference to this man,"
said Oliver, with a smile.

"Truly, I do, for although I condemn smuggling,--ahem!" (the old
gentleman cast a peculiar glance at the captain), "I don't like to see a
sturdy man hanged or shot--and Jim Cuttance is a stout fellow. I
question much whether you could find his match, Captain Dan, amongst all
your men?"

"That I could, easily," said the captain with a quiet smile.

"Pardon me, captain," said Oliver, "my uncle has not yet informed me on
the point. May I ask what corps you belong to?"

"To a sturdy corps of tough lads," answered the captain, with another of
his quiet smiles--"men who have smelt powder, most of 'em, since they
were little boys--live on the battlefield, I may say, almost night and
day--spring more mines in a year than all the soldiers in the world put
together--and shorten their lives by the stern labour they undergo; but
they burn powder to raise, not to waste, metal. Their