ne. "They are always
wide-awake, and forever at their stations. Instead of growing tired,
they get sharper every day. Even Charron can scarcely run through them
now. But I know who could do it, if he could only be trusted. With a
pilot-boat--it is a fine idea--a pilot-boat entered as of Pebbleridge.
The Pebbleridge people hate Springhaven, through a feud of centuries,
and Springhaven despises Pebbleridge. It would answer well, although the
landing is so bad, and no anchorage possible in rough weather. I must
try if Dan Tugwell will undertake it. None of the rest know the coast
as he does, and few of them have the bravery. But Dan is a very sulky
fellow, very difficult to manage. He will never betray us; he is
wonderfully grateful; and after that battle with the press-gang, when he
knocked down the officer and broke his arm, he will keep pretty clear of
the Union-jack. But he goes about moping, and wondering, and mooning, as
if he were wretched about what he has to do. Bless my soul, where is my
invention? I see the way to have him under my thumb. Reason is an old
coat hanging on a peg; passion is the fool who puts it on and runs away
with it. Halloa! Who are you? And what do you want at such a time as
this? Surely you can see that I am not at leisure now. Why, Tugwell, I
thought that you were far away at sea!"

"So I was, sir; but she travels fast. I never would believe the old
London Trader could be driven through the water so. Sam Polwhele knows
how to pile it on a craft, as well as he do upon a man, sir. I won't
serve under him no more, nor Captain Charcoal either. I have done my
duty by you. Squire Carne, the same as you did by me, sir; and thanking
you for finding me work so long, my meaning is to go upon the search
to-morrow."

"What fools they must have been to let this fellow come ashore!" thought
Carne, while he failed to see the wisest way to take it. "Tugwell, you
cannot do this with any honour, after we have shown you all the secrets
of our enterprise. You know that what we do is of the very highest
honour, kind and humane and charitable, though strictly forbidden by a
most inhuman government. How would you like, if you were a prisoner in
France, to be debarred from all chance of getting any message from your
family, your wife, your sweetheart, or your children, from year's end
to year's end, and perhaps be dead for months without their knowing
anything about it?"

"Well, sir, I should think it very hard