ever more religiously kept. Charlie was put out to school and received a good sound commercial education, for which Seth found the money, and, at length, when he thought that he had had enough of his books he made a strong representation to his employers, and persuaded them to give Charlie a berth at the lighthouse, where we now find him. Story tellers have a dreadful habit of always making their favourite character very handsome, in fact, an admirable Crichton of the most approved type; and I am afraid that if I attempt to sketch a portrait of mine I shall lay the paint on too thick and spoil the effect. Therefore I leave the task to the imagination of my hearers, merely adding that Charlie was brave and true as steel, and loved Seth with his whole heart. Tea was over and cleared away, and Seth had been upstairs to see that the lights were all right, and was now taking it easy in a comfortable arm-chair. “Look here, Bill,” he said, performing that process which is known as washing the hands with imaginary soap, “as it’s Christmas Eve, we’ll treat ourselves to a drop of grog, and make ourselves cosy.” “All right, mate,” answered Bill, evidently quite ready to enjoy himself after the prescription suggested; “here’s the bacca jar, and presently, if Charlie don’t mind, we’ll get him to spell out a bit of reading.” “So we will, so we will, mate,” echoed Seth. “Fetch out the groceries, lad, and then I’m blowed if we shan’t be as square and ship-shape this here festive season as any of your land lubbers.” Charlie bustled about, got out the rum and all the other necessary etceteras, and then made himself excessively comfortable on one of the lockers with the book, from which he was to hold forth for the delectation of the company. It was the ever-green “_Pickwick Papers_,” and soon the roar of the wind and storm outside was almost lost in the shouts of laughter that Sam Weller’s eccentricities and witticisms excited. Charlie had been reading uninterruptedly for about half-an-hour, when Seth suddenly jumped up from his chair, exclaiming, “I could swear I heard some one moving in the yard outside.” “Lor, mate, you must be a dreaming,” answered Bill; “we’re not likely to be troubled with visitors, let alone on such a night as this; but, as I’m nearest the door, I’ll just take a look out.” Bill Marston rose from his seat and did as he said. The wind came driving into the room, rude, bitter, and searching, threatening to put out their lamp. “Bless your heart,” continued he, shutting the door quickly, “there arn’t nobody, it was only fancy;” and with that the two resumed their seats and the reading continued. But presently Bill Marston in his turn cried to Charlie to stop, and, putting his finger on his lips, crept once again to the door, whispering as he did so:— “Seth, you’re right, mate, there’s some mischief up, and we’ve got company on the rock that we don’t know about yet.” Seth Lawrence was up in a moment like a lion.