deck he found himself involved in all the bustle
that ensues when men break off from work and make preparation for the
morning meal.

There were upwards of thirty artificers on board the lightship at
this time. Some of these, as they hurried to and fro, gave the new
arrivals a hearty greeting, and asked, "What news from the shore?"
Others were apparently too much taken up with their own affairs to
take notice of them.

While Ruby was observing the busy scene with absorbing interest, and
utterly forgetful of the fact that he was in any way connected with
it, an elderly gentleman, whose kind countenance and hearty manner
gave indication of a genial spirit within, came up and accosted him:

"You are our assistant blacksmith, I believe?"

"Yes, sir, I am," replied Ruby, doffing his cap, as if he felt
instinctively that he was in the presence of someone of note.

"You have had considerable practice, I suppose, in your trade?"

"A good deal, sir, but not much latterly, for I have been at sea for
some time."

"At sea? Well, that won't be against you here," returned the
gentleman, with a meaning smile. "It would be well if some of my men
were a little more accustomed to the sea, for they suffer much from
sea-sickness. You can go below, my man, and get breakfast. You'll
find your future messmate busy at his, I doubt not. Here, steward,"
(turning to one of the men who chanced to pass at the moment,) "take
Ruby Brand--that is your name, I think?"

"It is, sir."

"Take Brand below, and introduce him to James Dove as his assistant."

The steward escorted Ruby down the ladder that conducted to those
dark and littered depths of the ship's hull that were assigned to the
artificers as their place of abode. But amidst a good deal of
unavoidable confusion, Ruby's practised eye discerned order and
arrangement everywhere.

"This is your messmate, Jamie Dove," said the steward, pointing to a
massive dark man, whose outward appearance was in keeping with his
position as the Vulcan of such an undertaking as he was then engaged
in. "You'll find him not a bad feller if you only don't cross him."
He added, with a wink, "His only fault is that he's given to spoilin'
good victuals, being raither floored by sea-sickness if it comes on
to blow ever so little."

"Hold your clapper, lad," said the smith, who was at the moment
busily engaged with a mess of salt pork, and potatoes to match.
"Who's your friend?"

"No friend of mine, thou