ently onward, sporting with him on its
foaming crest until it disgorged him at last, and cast him, stunned,
bruised, and bleeding, on the seashore.

Of course the unfortunate man's friends had waited for him with some
impatience, and great was their anxiety when the first of the flood made
its appearance. When, immediately after, the battered form of their
comrade was flung on the beach, they ran forward and bore him out of the
stream.

Oliver Trembath being on the spot, Maggot wae at once attended to, and
his wounds bound up.

"He'll do; he's all right," said Oliver, on completing the work--"only
got a few cuts and bruises, and lost a little blood, but that won't harm
him."

The expression of anxiety that had appeared on the faces of those who
stood around at once vanished on hearing these reassuring words.

"I knaw'd it," said John Cock energetically. "I knaw'd he couldn't be
killed--not he."

"I trust that you may be right, Oliver," said old Mr Donnithorne,
looking with much concern on the pale countenance of the poor smith, who
still lay stretched out, with only a slight motion of the chest to prove
that the vital spark had not been altogether extinguished.

"No fear of him, he's sure to come round," replied Oliver; "come, lads,
up with him on your backs."

He raised the smith's shoulder as he spoke. Three tall and powerful
miners promptly lent their aid, and Maggot was raised shoulder-high, and
conveyed up the steep, winding path that led to the top of the cliff.

"It would never do to lose Maggot," murmured Mr Donnithorne, as if
speaking to himself while he followed the procession beside Mr Cornish;
"he's far too good a--"

"A smuggler--eh?" interrupted the purser, with a laugh.

"Eh, ah! did I say smuggler?" cried Mr Donnithorne; "surely not, for of
all vices that of smuggling is one of the worst, unless it be an
overfondness for the bottle. I meant to have said that he is too
valuable a man for St. Just to lose--in many ways; and you know, Mr
Cornish, that he is a famous wrestler--a man of whom St. Just may be
justly proud."

Mr Donnithorne cast a sly glance at his companion, whom he knew to be
partial to the ancient Cornish pastime of wrestling. Indeed, if report
said truly, the worthy purser had himself in his youthful days been a
celebrated amateur wrestler, one who had never been thrown, even
although he had on more than one occasion been induced in a frolic to
enter the public ring and