oft spot in Mrs Davidson's heart, and sank deeply into
it.

"That blessed babby!" she cried, leaping up in such haste that her work
went into the grate, in which, however, there was happily no fire.

"Oh! my darling! you're Joe to the back-bone--though you _are_ a girl--
all bounce, an' bang, an' tenderness!"

Seizing the infant in her strong arms she gave it a hug which ought to
have produced another yell, but the little one was tough, besides which,
she was used to it, and said nothing. The calm did not last long,
however. Little Mag, as she was called, felt that her interior
somewhere was somehow in want of something, and took the usual way to
publish the fact.

After that, conversation became impossible. A storm had burst upon the
friends which increased rapidly, so Mrs Bright rose to say good-bye in
the midst of a squall which ought to have blown her through the door-way
or out at the window into the street. She was not irritated, however.
As she left the house followed by the squall, which was soon moderated
to a stiffish breeze by distance, the sound called up reminiscences of
little Billy, and she smiled as she thought of the unvarying continuity
of human affairs--the gush of infant memories, and the squalls of other
days.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

TEMPTATION ON THE DEEP.

Let us return once more to the North Sea.

It was drawing towards the close of another fishing period, and the crew
of the _Evening Star_ were beginning to think of the pleasures of their
week on shore when, one afternoon, their vessel found herself becalmed
near to the Dutch man-trap--the vessel laden with that greatest of the
world's curses--strong drink.

It is usual, we believe, in ordinary warfare, that, on the eve of a
great battle, there should be preparations and indications, more or less
obvious, of the coming fight; but it is not always so in spiritual
warfare. Sometimes the hardest and most important battles of the Great
War are fought on unselected ground, the assault having been delivered
unexpectedly and when the soul was off its guard, or, perchance, when it
was presuming on fancied security, and relying on its own might instead
of the strength of the Lord. So it was at this time with David Bright,
skipper of the _Evening Star_.

Who would have thought, as he sat that day on the rail of his little
vessel, calmly looking out to the horizon in anticipation of a good
fishing-breeze, that the mighty forces of Good an