se was written, "_The bearer, Ruby Brand, is serving as a
blacksmith in the erection of the Bell Rock Lighthouse_."

"This is all very well, my fine fellow," said the officer, "but I have
been deceived more than once with these medals and tickets. How am I to
know that you have not stolen it from someone?"

"By seeing whether the description agrees," replied Ruby.

"Of course, I know that as well as you, and I don't find the description
quite perfect. I would say that your hair is light-brown, now, not
auburn, and your nose is a little Roman, if anything; and there's no
mention of whiskers, or that delicate moustache. Why, look here," he
added, turning abruptly to Big Swankie, "this might be the description
of your comrade as well as, if not better than, yours. What's your
name?"

"Swankie, sir," said that individual ruefully, yet with a gleam of hope
that the advantages of the Bell Rock medal might possibly, in some
unaccountable way, accrue to himself, for he was sharp enough to see
that the officer would be only too glad to find any excuse for securing
Ruby.

"Well, Swankie, stand up, and let's have a look at you," said the
officer, glancing from the paper to the person of the fisherman, and
commenting thereon. "Here we have `very powerfully made'--no mistake
about that--strong as Samson; `fair complexion'--that's it exactly;
`auburn hair'--so it is. Auburn is a very undecided colour; there's a
great deal of red in it, and no one can deny that Swankie has a good
deal of red in _his_ hair."

There was indeed no denying this, for it was altogether red, of an
intense carroty hue.

"You see, friend," continued the officer, turning to Ruby, "that the
description suits Swankie very well."

"True, as far as you have gone," said Ruby, with a quiet smile; "but
Swankie is six feet two in his stockings, and his nose is turned up, and
his hair don't curl, and his eyes are light-green, and his complexion is
sallow, if I may not say yellow--"

"Fair, lad; fair," said the officer, laughing in spite of himself. "Ah!
Ruby Brand, you are jealous of him! Well, I see that I'm fated not to
capture you, so I'll bid you good day. Meanwhile your companions will
be so good as to step into my gig."

The two men rose to obey. Big Swankie stepped over the gunwale, with
the fling of a sulky, reckless man, who curses his fate and submits to
it. Davy Spink had a very crestfallen, subdued look. He was about to
follow, when