drink success to the Bell Rock Lighthouse."

It need scarcely be said that this toast was drunk with enthusiasm,
and that it was followed up with "three times three".

"Now for a song. Come, Joe Dumsby, strike up," cried one of the men.

O'Connor, who was one of the most reckless of men in regard to duty
and propriety, here shook his head gravely, and took upon himself to
read his comrade a lesson.

"Ye shouldn't talk o' sitch things in workin' hours," said he. "Av we
wos all foolish, waake-hidded cratures like _you_, how d'ye think
we'd iver git the lighthouse sot up! Ate yer dinner, lad, and howld
yer tongue."

"O Ned, I didn't think your jealousy would show out so strong,"
retorted his comrade. "Now, then, Dumsby, fire away, if it was only
to aggravate him."

Thus pressed, Joe Dumsby took a deep draught of the small-beer with
which the men were supplied, and began a song of his own composition.

When the song was finished the meal was also concluded, and the men
returned to their labours on the rock; some to continue their work
with the picks at the hard stone of the foundation-pit, others to
perform miscellaneous jobs about the rock, such as mixing the mortar
and removing debris, while James Dove and his fast friend Ruby Brand
mounted to their airy "cot" on the beacon, from which in a short time
began to proceed the volumes of smoke and the clanging sounds that
had formerly arisen from "Smith's Ledge ".

While they were all thus busily engaged, Ruby observed a boat
advancing towards the rock from the floating light. He was blowing
the bellows at the time, after a spell at the fore-hammer.

"We seem to be favoured with unusual events to-day, Jamie," said he,
wiping his forehead with the corner of his apron with one hand, while
he worked the handle of the bellows with the other, "yonder comes
another boat; what can it be, think you?"

"Surely it can't be tea!" said the smith with a smile, as he turned
the end of a pickaxe in the fire, "it's too soon after dinner for
that."

"It looks like the boat of our friends the fishermen, Big Swankie and
Davy Spink," said Ruby, shading his eyes with his hand, and gazing
earnestly at the boat as it advanced towards them.

"Friends!" repeated the smith, "rascally smugglers, both of them;
they're no friends of mine."

"Well, I didn't mean bosom friends," replied Ruby, "but after all,
Davy Spink is not such a bad fellow, though I can't say that I'm
fond of his comrad