ketch-book.

Not far from the light-house stood a life-saving station--a strong
two-story building, shingled upon its sides to make it warmer. Here,
through the winter months, lived a crew of brave fishermen, who were
always ready to launch the life-boat, and go out through the stormy
waters to help shipwrecked sailors.

Wally was a favorite here, and spent much of his time listening to the
tales they told of ocean dangers and escapes; but he liked best of all
to trudge along the sands with the guard on dark nights, lantern in
hand, watching for ships in distress. The captain of the crew, who was
an old seaman, taught him the use of the compass and quadrant, and other
matters of navigation, while the rest showed him how to pull an oar,
steer, and swim, until he could manage a boat as well as any of them.

Just before sunset each day Wally's father climbed the iron steps of the
light tower, and started the lamp, which slowly revolved within the
great crystal lens, flashing out four times each minute its beam of
warning across the stormy waters. Every few hours it was the watcher's
duty to pump oil into a holder above the light, from which it flowed in
a steady stream to the round wicks below. If this was neglected, the
lamp would cease to burn.

Wally, who was an ingenious boy, had placed a small bit of mirror in his
little bedroom in the attic so that as he lay in bed he could see the
reflection of the flash across the waters. One wild October evening he
had watched it until he fell asleep, and in the night was awakened by
the roaring gusts of the gale which swept over the lonely sands, and he
missed the faithful flash upon his mirror. _The light had gone out!_

Many ships out upon the sea were sailing to and fro, and there was no
light to guide them or warn them of dangerous shoals. Nearer and nearer
some of them were drifting to their fate, and still the beacon gave no
warning of danger.

The light-keeper, hours before, had gone out upon the narrow gallery
about the top of the tower to look at the storm, just as a large wild
fowl, bewildered by the glare, had flown with great speed toward it, and
striking the keeper's head, had laid him senseless upon the iron
grating.

I have seen fractures in the lenses, or glass reflectors, of
light-houses as large as your two fists, such as it would require a
heavy sledge-hammer to break by human force, caused by the fierce flight
of wild fowl; and a netting of iron wire i