man who expects ere long to
be called into action.

The harbour-master--who is, and certainly had need be, a man of brain as
well as muscle and energy, to keep the conflicting elements around him
in order--moves about actively, making preparation for the expected
gale.

Early on the morning of the day referred to, Nora Jones threaded her way
among the stalls of the marketplace under the town-hall, as if she were
in search of some one. Not succeeding in her search, she walked briskly
along one of the main thoroughfares of the town, and diverged into a
narrow street, which appeared to have retired modestly into a corner in
order to escape observation. At the farther end of this little street,
she knocked at the door of a house, the cleanly appearance of which
attested the fact that its owner was well-doing and orderly.

Nora knocked gently; she did everything gently!

"Is Mrs Moy at home?" she asked, as a very bright little girl's head
appeared.

No sooner was Nora's voice heard than the door was flung wide open, and
the little girl exclaimed, "Yes, she's at 'ome, and daddy too." She
followed up this assurance with a laugh of glee, and, seizing the
visitor's hand, dragged her into the house by main force.

"Hallo, Nora, 'ow are 'ee, gal?" cried a deep bass voice from the
neighbourhood of the floor, where its owner appeared to be smothered
with children, for he was not to be seen.

Nora looked down and beheld the legs and boots of a big man, but his
body and head were invisible, being completely covered and held down by
four daughters and five sons, one of the former being a baby, and one of
the latter an infant.

Dick Moy, who was enjoying his month on shore, rose as a man might rise
from a long dive, flung out his great right arm, scattered the children
like flecks of foam, and sat up with a beaming countenance, holding the
infant tenderly in his left arm. The baby had been cast under the
table, where it lay, helpless apparently, and howling. It had passed
the most tender period of life, and had entered on that stage when
knocks, cuts, yells, and bruises are the order of the day.

"Glad to see you, Nora," said the man of the floating light, extending
his huge hand, which the girl grasped and shook warmly. "You'll excuse
me not bein' more purlite. I'm oppressed with child'n, as you see. It
seems to me as if I'd gone an' got spliced to that there 'ooman in the
story-book wot lived in the shoe, an' had s