Bremner. He became so tired of the floating light that he earnestly
solicited, and obtained, permission to remain on the beacon.

At the time it was only in a partially sheltered state. The joiners had
just completed the covering of the roof with a quantity of tarpaulin,
which the seamen had laid over with successive coats of hot tar, and the
sides of the erection had been painted with three coats of white lead.
Between the timber framing of the habitable part, the interstices were
stuffed with moss, but the green baize cloth with which it was
afterwards lined had not been put on when Bremner took possession.

It was a splendid summer evening when the bold man made his request, and
obtained permission to remain. None of the others would join him. When
the boats pushed off and left him the solitary occupant of the rock, he
felt a sensation of uneasiness, but, having formed his resolution, he
stuck by it, and bade his comrades good night cheerfully.

"Good night, and good_bye_," cried Forsyth, as he took his seat at the
oar.

"Farewell, dear," cried O'Connor, wiping his eyes with a _very_ ragged
pocket handkerchief.

"You won't forget me?" retorted Bremner.

"Never," replied Dumsby, with fervour.

"Av the beacon should be carried away, darlin'," cried O'Connor, "howld
tight to the provision-chest, p'raps ye'll be washed ashore."

"I'll drink your health in water, Paddy," replied Bremner.

"Faix, I hope it won't be salt wather," retorted Ned.

They continued to shout good wishes, warnings, and advice to their
comrade until out of hearing, and then waved adieu to him until he was
lost to view.

We have said that Bremner was alone, yet he was not entirely so; he had
a comrade with him, in the shape of his little black dog, to which
reference has already been made. This creature was of that very thin
and tight-skinned description of dog, that trembles at all times as if
afflicted with chronic cold, summer and winter. Its thin tail was
always between its extremely thin legs, as though it lived in a
perpetual condition of wrong-doing, and were in constant dread of
deserved punishment. Yet no dog ever belied its looks more than did
this one, for it was a good dog, and a warm-hearted dog, and never did a
wicked thing, and never was punished, so that its excessive humility and
apparent fear and trembling were quite unaccountable. Like all dogs of
its class it was passionately affectionate, and intensely gratefu