resent to do it."

This was an opening for Jeff Benson, who was not slow to avail himself
of it. Stepping into the ring he threw off his coat.

"Come along, Rodger," he said, with a good-humoured look; "you'll have
to make good your words."

Of course our hero was received with a cheer of satisfaction; for
although Jeff was two inches shorter than his adversary--the latter
being six feet two--it could be seen at a glance that he was at least
his match in breadth of shoulder and development of muscle. But in
truth the young coastguardsman was much more than the blacksmith's
match, for at school he had received special training in the art of
wrestling from his father, who was a Cornishman, and hard service in the
coasting trade had raised his strength of limb to the highest possible
point.

"Surely I've seen that young man somewhere," whispered one of the
spectators to Reuben.

"So have I," returned the latter. "Don't he look uncommon like the old
schoolmaster's son? Hallo!"

And well might Reuben exclaim "hallo!" for Jeff, instead of grasping his
opponent round the waist, had suddenly seized him with one hand by the
neck, with the other by the leg, and lifting him completely off the
ground, had flung him on his back.

The people were too much astonished at first to cheer. They burst into
a fit of laughter, which, however, extended into a hearty cheer when
Reuben cried out, "It is Jeffrey Benson, as sure as I'm alive," and
claimed him as a townsman.

"You're right, Reuben," said Jeff, as he put on his coat, "though I am a
good bit changed, no doubt, since I was here last."

"Then the townsman have beaten the seaman after all," exclaimed one who
was inclined to triumph.

"Not so," returned Jeff quickly, "for I'm a seaman myself and take sides
with the fishermen."

"Well said; give us your hand, mate," cried John Golding, one of the
latter, holding out his hand, which our hero grasped warmly, for he had
known the man in former years.

"You've done well in credit o' the sea."

"An' better still," said little Reuben, "in doing credit to the land by
refusin' to boast."

Nevertheless, though Jeff Benson did not boast, it is but just to say
that he _felt_ considerable satisfaction in his triumph, and rejoiced in
the possession of so powerful a frame, as he continued his walk to Miss
Millet's house. It did not occur to him, however, to thank God for his
strength of body, because at that time "God was not