Old Friends in New Circumstances.  
Let us now return to Ruby Brand; and in order that the reader may perfectly understand the proceedings of that bold youth, let us take a glance at the Bell Rock Lighthouse in its completed condition.
 
We have already said that the lower part, from the foundation to the height of thirty feet, was built of solid masonry, and that at the top of this solid part stood the entrance-door of the building—facing towards the south.
 
The position of the door was fixed after the solid part had been exposed to a winter’s storms. The effect on the building was such that the most sheltered or lee-side was clearly indicated; the weather-side being thickly covered with limpets, barnacles, and short green seaweed, while the lee-side was comparatively free from such incrustations.
 
The walls at the entrance-door are nearly seven feet thick, and the short passage that pierces them leads to the foot of a spiral staircase, which conducts to the lowest apartment in the tower, where the walls decrease in thickness to three feet. This room is the provision store. Here are kept water-tanks and provisions of all kinds, including fresh vegetables which, with fresh water, are supplied once a fortnight to the rock all the year round. The provision store is the smallest apartment, for, as the walls of the tower decrease in thickness as they rise, the several apartments necessarily increase as they ascend.
 
The second floor is reached by a wooden staircase or ladder, leading up through a “manhole” in the ceiling. Here is the lightroom store, which contains large tanks of polished metal for the oil consumed by the lights. A whole year’s stock of oil, or about 1100 gallons, is stored in these tanks. Here also is a small carpenter’s bench and tool-box, besides an endless variety of odds and ends,—such as paint-pots, brushes, flags, waste for cleaning the reflectors, etcetera, etcetera.
 
Another stair, similar to the first, leads to the third floor, which is the kitchen of the building. It stands about sixty-six feet above the foundation. We shall have occasion to describe it and the rooms above presently. Meanwhile, let it suffice to say, that the fourth floor contains the men’s sleeping-berths, of which there are six, although three men is the usual complement on the rock. The fifth floor is the library, and above that is the lantern; the whole building, from base to summit, being 115 feet high.
 
At the time when Ruby entered the door of the Bell Rock Lighthouse, as already described, there were three keepers in the building, one of whom was on his watch in the lantern, while the other two were in the kitchen.
 
These men were all old friends. The man in the lantern was George Forsyth, who had been appointed one of the light-keepers in consideration of his good services and steadiness. He was seated reading at a small desk. Close above him was the blazing series of lights, which revolved slowly and steadily by means of machinery, moved by a heavy weight. A small bell was struck slowly but regularly by the same machinery, in token that all was going on well. If that bell had ceased to sound, Forsyth would at once have leaped up to ascertain what was wrong with the lights. So long as it continued to ring he knew that all was well, and that he might continue his studies peacefully—not quietly, however, for, besides the rush of wind against the thick plate-glass of the lantern, there was the never-ceasing roar of the ventilator, in which the heated air from within and the cold air from without met and kept up a terrific war. Keepers get used to that sound, however, and do not mind it.
 
Each keeper’s duty was to watch for three successive hours in the lantern.
 
Not less familiar were the faces of the occupants of the kitchen. To this apartment Ruby ascended without anyone hearing him approach, for one of the windows was open, and the roar of the storm effectually drowned his light footfall. On reaching the floor immediately below the kitchen he heard the tones of a violin, and when his head emerged through the manhole of the kitchen floor, he paused and listened with deep interest, for the air was familiar.
 
Peeping round the corner of the oaken partition that separated the manhole from the apartment, he beheld a sight which filled his heart with gladness, for there, seated on a camp-stool, with his back leaning against the dresser, his face lighted up by the blaze of a splendid fire, which burned in a most comfortable-looking kitchen range, and his hands drawing forth most pathetic music from a violin, sat his old friend Joe Dumsby, while opposite to him on a similar camp-stool, with his arm resting on a small table, and a familiar black pipe in his mouth, sat that worthy son of Vulcan, Jamie Dove.
 
The little apartment glowed with ruddy light, and to Ruby, who had just escaped from a scene of such drear and dismal aspect, it appeared, what it really was, a place of the most luxurious comfort.
 
Dove was keeping time to the music with little puffs of smoke, and Joe was in the middle of a prolonged shake, when Ruby passed through the doorway and stood before them.
 
Dove’s eyes opened to their widest, and his jaw dropt, so did his pipe, and the music ceased abruptly, while the face of both men grew pale.
 
“I’m not a ghost, boys,” said Ruby, with a laugh, which afforded immense relief to his old comrades. “Come, have ye not a welcome for an old messmate who swims off to visit you on such a night as this?”
 
Dove was the first to recover. He gasped, and, holding out both arms, exclaimed, “Ruby Brand!”
 
“And no mistake!” cried Ruby, advancing and grasping his friend warmly by the hands.
 
For at least half a minute the two men shook each other’s hands lustily and in silence. Then they burst into a loud laugh, while Joe, suddenly recovering, went crashing into a Scotch reel with energy so great that time and tune were both sacrificed. As if by mutual impulse, Ruby and Dove began to dance! But this was merely a spurt of feeling, more than half-involuntary. In the middle of a bar Joe flung down the fiddle, and, springing up, seized Ruby round the neck and hugged him, an act which made him aware of the fact that he was dripping wet.
 
“Did ye swim hoff to the rock?” he enquired, stepping back, and gazing at his friend with a look of surprise, mingled with awe.
 
“Indeed I did.”
 
“But how? why? what mystery are ye rolled up in?” exclaimed the smith.
 
“Sit down, sit down, and quiet yourselves,” said Ruby, drawing a stool near to the fire, and seating himself. “I’ll explain, if you’ll only hold your tongues, and not look so scared like.”
 
“No, Ruby; no, lad, you must change yer clothes first,” said the smith, in a tone of authority; “why, the fire makes you steam like a washin’ biler. Come along with me, an’ I’ll rig you out.”
 
“Ay, go hup with ’im, Ruby. Bless me, this is the most amazin’ hincident as ever ’appened to me. Never saw nothink like it.”
 
As Dove and Ruby ascended to the room above, Joe went about the kitchen talking to himself, poking the fire violently, overturning the camp-stools, knocking about the crockery on the dresser, and otherwise conducting himself like a lunatic.
 
Of course Ruby told Dove parts of his story by fits and starts as he was changing his garments; of cours............