white paint respectively, and began to work with the energy of men who
know that their opportunity may be cut short at any moment by a sudden
squall or increasing swell.

Indeed, calm though the water was, there was enough of undulation to
render the process of painting one of some difficulty, for, besides the
impossibility of keeping the boat steady, Dick Moy found that all his
strength could not avail to prevent the artists being drawn suddenly
away beyond reach of their object, and as suddenly thrown against it, so
that their hands and faces came frequently into contact with the wet
paint, and gave them a piebald appearance.

For some time Billy contented himself with looking on and chaffing the
men, diversifying the amusement by an occasional skirmish with Stanley,
who had armed himself with a brush, and was busy helping.

"It's raither heavy work, sir, to do all the judgment business by
myself;" he said. "There's that feller Shales, as don't know how a
straight line should be draw'd. Couldn't ye lend me your brush, Jack?
or p'raps Dick Moy will lend me his beard, as he don't seem to be usin'
it just now."

"Here, Dick," cried Stanley, giving up his brush, "you've had enough of
the holding-on business; come, I'll relieve you."

"Ay, that's your sort," said Billy; "muscle to the boat-'ook, an' brains
to the brush."

"Hold on tight, sir," cried Shales, as the boat gave a heavy lurch away
from the buoy, while the three painters stood leaning as far over the
gunwale as was consistent with safety, and stretching their arms and
brushes towards the object of their solicitude.

Stanley exerted himself powerfully; a reactionary swell helped him too
much, and next moment the three men went, heads, hands, and brushes,
plunging against the buoy!

"Och! morther!" cried Jerry, one of whose black hands had been forced
against a white stripe, and left its imprint there. "Look at that,
now!"

"All right," cried Shales, dashing a streak of white over the spot.

"There's no preventing it," said Stanley, apologetically, yet laughing
in spite of himself.

"I say, Jack, this is 'igh art, this is," observed Moy, as he drew back
to take another dip, "but I'm free to confess that I'd raither go
courtin' the girls than painting the buoys."

"Oh! Dick, you borrowed that from me," cried Billy; "for shame, sir!"

"Well, well," observed Jerry, "it's many a time I've held on to a
painter, but I niver thought to become wan. Wh