The Chief Engineer of the Trinity House was a man of few words. He and Taffy had spent the afternoon clambering about the rocks below the light-house, peering into its foundations. Here and there, where weed coated the rocks and made foothold slippery, he took the hand which Taffy held out. Now and then he paused for a pinch of snuff. The round of inspection finished, he took an extraordinarily long pinch. “What’s _your_ opinion?” he asked, cocking his head on one side and examining the young man much as he had examined the light-house. “You have one, I suppose?” “Yes, sir; but of course it doesn’t count for much.” “I asked for it.” “Well, then, I think, sir, we have wasted a year’s work; and if we go on tinkering we shall waste more.” “Pull it down and rebuild, you say?” “Yes, sir; but not on the same rock.” “Why?” “This rock was ill-chosen. You see, sir, just here a ridge of elvan crops up through the slate; the rock, out yonder, is good elvan, and that is why the sea has made an island of it, wearing away the softer stuff inshore. The mischief here lies in the rock, not in the light-house.” “The sea has weakened our base?” “Partly: but the light-house has done more. In a strong gale the foundations begin to work, and in the chafing the rock gets the worst of it.” “What about concrete?” “You might fill up the sockets with concrete; but I doubt, sir, if the case would hold for any time. The rock is a mere shell in places, especially on the north-western side.” “H’m. You were at Oxford for a time, were you not?” “Yes, sir,” Taffy answered, wondering. “I’ve heard about you. Where do you live?” Taffy pointed to the last of a line of three whitewashed cottages behind the light-house. “Alone?” “No, sir; with my mother and my grandmother. She is an invalid.” “I wonder if your mother would be kind enough to offer me a cup of tea?” In the small kitchen, on the walls of which, and even on the dresser, Taffy’s books fought for room with Humility’s plates and tin-ware, the Chief Engineer proved to be a most courteous old gentleman. Towards Humility he bore himself with an antique politeness which flattered her considerably. And when he praised her tea she almost forgave him for his detestable habit of snuff-taking. He had heard something (it appeared) from the President of Taffy’s college, and also from--(he named Taffy’s old friend in the velvet college-cap). In later days Taffy maintained not only that every man must try to stand alone, but that he ought to try the harder because of its impossibility; for in fact it was impossible to escape from men’s helpfulness. And though his work was done in lonely places where in the end fame came out to seek him, he remained the same boy who, waking in the dark, had heard the bugles speaking comfort.