then, and 'twas said that having waited to that age to fall in love, he got it very bad with a widder, who wouldn't have him. Love seems to be like measles, better had young. Well, Congleton took it so to heart that he made up his mind to live forlorn and lonely ever more. So he built a kind o' summer-house in the Hollow yonder; and when he tired o' that he set a small army o' laborers building the Folly, for so it got to be called; and there he lived for a dozen years in one room at the top all by himself, seeing nobody, having his food sent up twice a week by a pulley. And then he died. Congleton's Folly 'twas called then, and so it be called to this day: a sort of wilderness all round it, and a fearsome place on a dark night."

The old tar talked on, Jack doing the listening, until they came to a spot where, just after the road crossed a deep chine cutting through the cliff to the sea, there stood a large farm-building by the roadside.

"Is that one of my cousin's farms?" asked Jack.

"No, sir, that be Mr. Gudgeon's freehold."

Jack glanced at it idly. It was an old roving building of stone, with gables and mullioned windows, many barns and outhouses hemming it in. Across the road was the farmyard, with a large pond skirting the roadway; and beyond it a level triangular stretch of pasture and cornland extending to the edge of the cliff, which here jutted out prominently into the sea.

Just before they reached the farm-house, Jack noticed a dense cloud of smoke pouring from one of the chimneys.

"The kitchen chimney's afire, I suppose," he said.

"Ay, ay, sir. Mr. Gudgeon do have a bad lot o' chimbleys. And there's a many in Luscombe, too. Plenty of jobs hereabouts for a good sweep! And there's Mr. Gudgeon himself—Nathaniel's his chrisom name."

A very big burly man, curiously short in the legs, made his appearance in the doorway, and walking backwards across the road, watched the black column of smoke drifting slowly eastward on the light breeze.

So closely was his attention fixed that he did not at once notice the pedestrians or the donkey-cart, and not until he had backed almost across the road did he suddenly catch sight of Joe Gumley. Then he started slightly, and his attention being now divided between the old sailor and the chimney on fire, he failed to observe a deep rut left by a passing wagon, that had evidently been driven into the pond to allow the horses to drink.

The result of the oversight was unfortunate. One of the short legs disappeared into the rut; there was a wild flourish of arms; and then the big unwieldy body toppled backward into the pond.

Jack could not forbear smiling. Gumley gave a quiet chuckle, and to Jack's surprise stumped on, not offering to help the farmer out. But the lad sprang forward impulsively, splashed into the water, and held out his hands to the miserable dripping object still floundering there, unable to gain a foothold on the clayey mud of the bottom.

"Steady, Mr. Gudgeon, steady!" cried Jack encouragingly. "Haul on, sir. Yo heave ho! and up we come!"

"Steady, Mr. Gudgeon, steady!" cried Jack

"Thank'ee, sir," said Mr. Gudgeon, spluttering. He had evidently swallowed more of the muddied water than he cared for. "But how—ugh!—how do you—ugh!—know my name, sir?"

"Why, that old sailor man told me—Gumley, you know: we hitched on some miles up the road there."

"Yes, yes, of course: yes, yes. I'm all of a flutter, sir; my heart goes pit-a-pat. Ugh! That water is rank, and—and I—I feel quite upset. It was Gumley; of course it was: and he told you my name. Yes, to be sure. And you, sir, I might guess, are a king's officer, sir?"

"Oh, yes! My ship's the Fury"

"Why, to be sure! Come in, sir. You must dry your boots. Take them off, sir. I will take off my wet things and be with you in a few moments. Sit you down, sir."

Mr. Gudgeon had led Jack into a large stone-flagged room, with a low ceiling of whitewashed rafters. He disappeared, and Jack, left to himself, took off his boots and stockings and sat on the broad, high ledge of the window. In one corner he noticed a long leather-bound telescope, and taking it up he looked out to sea. A few fishing boats dotted the shining surface, their brown sails just appearing above the edge of the cliff. In the offing a large lugger lay, apparently hove to. He was still peering through the glass when the farmer returned, carrying a tray with bottles and glasses. A servant came after him, and took away the wet boots and stockings.

"Now, sir," he said. "You have your choice. Here is brandy, and sloe gin, and cider—"

"Thanks, Mr. Gudgeon, a glass of cider for me; 'tis a cool drink for a hot day."

"To be sure," rejoined Mr. Gudgeon; "though for myself I find brandy the best cure for the flutters. You were taking a peep through my spy-glass, sir?"

"Yes: a good glass."

"Not bad, sir, not bad. And a clear day. But not much to see, sir, to-day."

"No. There's a lugger in the offing; and French by the cut of her."

"Surely not, sir," cried Mr. Gudgeon, taking up the glass. "Dear, dear! I'm all in a flutter again, sir. A French lugger, sir! 'Tis surely too near our coast to be safe."

"Yes, and I hope the Pandora will catch her; she's sailing this afternoon."

"To be sure, sir. The impudence of these Frenchmen! But I don't think she's French, after all; there's a lugger much like her down in Luscombe yonder. And you're an officer of the Fury? I've seen the Fury more than once, sir. She cruised about a good deal last winter on the lookout for smugglers. But she's laid up at Wynport now, I'm told."

"Yes, or I shouldn't be here."

"Ah! I wondered, now, what brought you to this quiet little place. Maybe you have friends in the neighborhood, sir?"

"I'm going to see my cousin, Mr. Bastable. I dare say you know him?"

"Know the squire! To be sure: a customer of mine. Ah! as I was saying, there's a good deal of smuggling on this part of the coast: so the common talk is, sir. Luscombe yonder is suspected, so 'tis said. Mr. Goodman, the new riding-officer, has his eye on the village. But up here on the cliff I don't hear much of what goes on. I keep myself to myself, sir—lead a quiet life; anything out of the way puts me in a flutter at once. And when will the Fury be ready for sea?"

"In four or five days."

"To be sure! And you are Mr. Bastable's cousin! Well, now, to be