"I've comed for the key o' the lifeboat," returned Slag, with a knowing glance at Nellie. "If the glass ain't tellin' lies we may have use for her before long." Massey pulled the key from his pocket, and gave it to Slag, who was his bowman, and who, with the exception of himself, was the best man of the lifeboat crew. "I'll have to follow him," said Bob, rising soon after his mate had left, "so good-bye, Nellie, till to-morrow." He did not stoop to kiss her, for the wide sands lay before them with fisher-boys playing thereon--apparently in their fathers' boots and sou'-westers--and knots of observant comrades scattered about. "See that you're not late at church to-morrow, Bob," said the girl, with a smile and a warning look. "Trust me," returned Bob. As he walked towards the lifeboat-house--a conspicuous little building near the pier--he tried to blow off some of the joy in his capacious breast, by whistling. "Why, Slag," he exclaimed on entering the shed, "I do believe you've been an' put on the blue ribbon!" "That's just what I've done, Bob," returned the other. "I thought you'd 'ave noticed it at the boat; but I forgot you could see nothin' but the blue of Nellie's eyes." "Of course not. Who'd expect me to see anything else when I'm beside _her_?" retorted Bob. "But what has made you change your mind? I'm sure the last time I tried to get you to hoist the blue-peter ye were obstinate enough--dead against it." "True, Bob; but since that time I've seed a dear woman that I was fond of _die_ from drink, an' I've seed Tom Riley, one of our best men, get on the road to ruin through the same; so I've hoisted the blue flag, as ye see." "That's a good job, Slag, but don't you forget, my lad, that the blue ribbon won't save you. There's but _one_ Saviour of men. Nevertheless, it's well to fight our battles under a flag, an' the blue is a good one--as things go. Show your colours and never say die; that's my motto. As you said, Slag, the glass _is_ uncommon low to-day. I shouldn't wonder if there was dirty weather brewin' up somewhere." The coxswain was right, and the barometer on that occasion was a true prophet. The weather which "brewed up" that evening was more than "dirty," it was tempestuous; and before midnight a tremendous hurricane was devastating the western shores of the kingdom. Many a good ship fought a hard battle that night with tide and tempest, and many a bad one went down. The gale was short-lived but fierce, and it strewed our western shores with wreckage and corpses, while it called forth the energies and heroism of our lifeboat and coastguard men from north to south.