o
them a lurid tinge of red. The operator's face, being close in front of
the fire as he blew, seemed almost as hot as the glowing coals.

With patient watchfulness he sat there crouching over the fire for
several hours, occasionally blowing it up or adding more fuel.

As the experiment went on, McCoy's eyes seemed to dilate with
expectation, and his breathing quickened. After a time he rose and
lifted a bottle out of a tub of water near the stove. The bottle was
attached to one end of the twisted tube, which was connected with the
kettle on the fire. Detaching it therefrom, he raised it quickly to the
light. Then he put it to his nose and smelt it. As he did so his face
lit up with an expression of delight. Taking down from a shelf a
cocoa-nut cup, he poured into it some sparkling liquid from the bottle.
It is a question which at that moment sparkled most, McCoy's eyes or the
liquid.

He sipped a little, and his rough visage broke into a beaming smile. He
drank it all, and then he smacked his lips and laughed--not quite a
joyous laugh, but a wild, fierce, triumphant laugh, such as one might
imagine would issue from the panting lips of some stout victor of the
olden time as he clutched a much-coveted prize, after slaying some
half-dozen enemies.

"Ha ha! I've got it at last!" he cried aloud, smacking his lips again.

And so he had. Long and earnestly had he laboured to make use of a
fatal piece of knowledge which he possessed. Among the hills of
Scotland McCoy had learned the art of making ardent spirits. After many
failures, he had on this night made a successful attempt with the
ti-root, which grew in abundance on Pitcairn. The spirit was at last
produced. As the liquid ran burning down his throat, the memory of a
passion which he had not felt for years came back upon him with
overwhelming force. In his new-born ecstasy he uttered a wild cheer,
and filling more spirit into the cup, quaffed it again.

"Splendid!" he cried, "first-rate. Hurrah!"

A tremendous knocking at the door checked him, and arrested his hand as
he was about to fill another cup.

"Who's that?" he demanded, angrily.

"Open the door an' you'll see."

The voice was that of Matthew Quintal. McCoy let him in at once.

"See here," he cried, eagerly, holding up the bottle with a leer, "I've
got it at last!"

"So any deaf man might have found out by the way you've bin shoutin' it.
Why didn't you open sooner?"

"Never heard