a situation in the coastguard; accepted it, and, to his great
satisfaction, was stationed in the neighbourhood of Cranby, his native
town.

Now, near to that town Jeff had a confidante, into whose sympathetic
bosom he had poured his joys and sorrows from the days of little
boyhood. Of course this confidante was a woman--a thin, little, elderly
creature, with bright blue eyes, and grey hair that had once been
golden, who had a sort of tremble in her voice, and whose frame was so
light that the fishermen were wont to say of her that if she was to show
her nose outside when it was blowing only half a gale she'd be blowed
away like a fleck of foam. Nevertheless Miss Millet was a distinct
power in Cranby.

Being off duty one fine afternoon, our coastguardsman walked along the
beach in the direction of Cranby, bent on paying a visit to Miss Millet,
whom he had not seen for several years. On his way he had to pass a
piece of common close to the town, where he found that a number of the
townsmen and some of the fishermen from the neighbouring hamlet had
assembled to hold high holiday and engage in athletic exercises. The
memory of school-days came strong upon him as he watched the sport, and
he longed to join, but was modest enough to feel that his offering to do
so in connection with games which seemed to have been already organised
might be an intrusion.

Two men were wrestling when he joined the circle of spectators--one was
a fisherman, the other a huge blacksmith of the town. They were well
matched; for, although the fisherman was shorter than the blacksmith, he
was an unusually powerful man.

Great was the excitement as the two herculean men strove for the
mastery, and loud was the cheer when at last the blacksmith prevailed
and threw his adversary.

But the enthusiasm was somewhat damped by the boastful manner in which
the victor behaved; for it is not easy to sing the praises of a man
whose looks and words show that he greatly overrates himself.

"You don't need to look so cocky, Rodger," cried a cynical voice in the
crowd. "There be lots o' men as could throw thee, though they ben't
here just now."

Rodger turned sharply round, intending to give an angry defiance to the
speaker; but seeing that it was only Reuben Drew, a white-haired old
shoemaker of small stature, he burst into a sarcastic laugh.

"Well, I don't deny," he said, "that there may be many men as could
throw me, but I defy any of 'ee now p