use, and then each man
went to his work--Jamie Dove to his kitchen, in order to clean up and
prepare dinner, and the other two to the lantern, to scour and polish
the reflectors, refill and trim the lamps, and, generally, to put
everything in order for the coming night.

Ruby divided his time between the kitchen and lantern, lending a hand
in each, but, we fear, interrupting the work more than he advanced
it.

That day it fell calm, and the sun shone brightly. "We'll have fog
to-night," observed Dumsby to Brand, pausing in the operation of
polishing a reflector, in which his fat face was mirrored with the
most indescribable and dreadful distortions.

"D'ye think so?"

"I'm sure of it."

"You're right," remarked Forsyth, looking from his elevated position
to the seaward horizon. "I can see it coming now."

"I say, what smell is that?" exclaimed Ruby, sniffing.

"Somethink burnin'," said Dumsby, also sniffing.

"Why, what can it be?" murmured Forsyth, looking round and likewise
sniffing. "Hallo! Joe, look out; you're on fire!"

Joe started, clapped his hand behind him, and grasped his
inexpressibles, which were smouldering warmly. Ruby assisted, and the
fire was soon put out, amidst much laughter.

"'Ang them reflectors!" said Joe, seating himself, and breathing hard
after his alarm and exertions; "it's the third time they've set me
ablaze."

"The reflectors, Joe?" said Ruby.

"Ay, don't ye see? They've nat'rally got a focus, an' w'en I 'appen
to be standin' on a sunny day in front of 'em, contemplatin' the face
o' natur', as it wor, through the lantern panes, if I gits into the
focus by haccident, d'ye see, it just acts like a burnin'-glass."

Ruby could scarcely believe this, but after testing the truth of the
statement by actual experiment he could no longer doubt it.

Presently a light breeze sprang up, rolling the fog before it, and
then dying away, leaving the lighthouse enshrouded.

During fog there is more danger to shipping than at any other time.
In the daytime, in ordinary weather, rocks and lighthouses can be
seen. At nights lights can be seen, but during fog nothing can be
seen until danger may be too near to be avoided. The two great
fog-bells of the lighthouse were therefore set agoing, and they rang
out their slow deep-toned peal all that day and all that night, as
the bell of the Abbot of Aberbrothoc is said to have done in days of
yore.

That night Ruby was astonished, and then he