.

order to her being got comfortably ready in good time, Nellie Carr had slept the night before at the house of an uncle, who was a farmer, and lived near the church. The house was in a sheltered hollow, so that the bride was scarcely aware of the gale that had been blowing so fiercely out at sea. Besides, being much taken up with cousin-bridesmaids and other matters, the thought of the lifeboat never once entered her pretty head.

      At the appointed hour, arrayed in all the splendour of a fisherman’s bride, she was led to the church, but no bridegroom was there!

      “He won’t be long. He’s never late,” whispered a bridesmaid to anxious Nellie.

      Minutes flew by, and Nellie became alarmed. The clergyman also looked perplexed.

      “Something must have happened,” said the farmer-uncle, apologetically.

      Watches were consulted and compared.

      At that moment a heavy rapid tread was heard outside. Another moment, and Bob Massey sprang into the church, panting, flushed, dirty, wet, wild, and, withal, grandly savage.

      “Nellie!” he exclaimed, stopping short, with a joyful gaze of admiration, for he had never seen her so like an angel before.

      “Bob!” she cried in alarm, for she had never before seen him so like a reprobate.

      “Young man,” began the clergyman, sternly, but he got no further; for, without paying any attention to him whatever, Bob strode forward and seized Nellie’s hands.

      “I dursen’t kiss ye, Nell, for I’m all wet; but I hadn’t one moment to change. Bin out all night i’ the lifeboat an’ saved over thirty souls. The Brentley boat’s done as much. I’m ashamed, sir,” he added, turning to the clergyman, “for comin’ here like this; but I couldn’t help it. I hope there’s nothin’ in Scriptur’ agin’ a man bein’ spliced in wet toggery?”

      Whether the clergyman consulted his Cruden’s Concordance with a view to clear up that theological question, we have never been able to ascertain; but it is abundantly clear that he did not allow the coxswain’s condition to interfere with the ceremony, for in the Greyton Journal, of next day, there appeared a paragraph to the following effect:

      “The marriage of Robert Massey, the heroic coxswain of our lifeboat, (which, with all its peculiar attendant circumstances, and the gallant rescue that preceded it, will be found in another part of this day’s issue), was followed up in the afternoon by a feast, and what we may style a jollification, which will live long in the memory of our fisher-folk.

      “Several circumstances combined to render this wedding-feast unique. To say nothing of the singular beauty of the bride, who is well known as one of the most thrifty and modest girls in the town, and the stalwart appearance of our coxswain, who, although so young, has already helped to save hundreds of human lives from the raging sea, the gathering was graced by the presence of the bridegroom’s bed-ridden mother. Old Mrs Massey had been carried in, bed and all, to the scene of festivity; and it is due to the invalid to state that, despite rheumatics and the singularity of her position, she seemed to enjoy herself exceedingly. Besides this, the friends and comrades of the coxswain—backed by the enthusiastic groomsman, Joe Slag—would not permit Massey to don wedding garments, but insisted on his dancing himself dry in the rough garb in which he had effected the rescue. This he had no difficulty in doing, having already run himself more than half dry in hastening from the lifeboat to the church, which latter he reached only just in time.

      “The little girl whom Massey personally saved was also present, with her mother and grandfather; and one interesting episode of the evening was the presentation to our coxswain of a gold watch and a purse of fifty sovereigns by the grateful old grandfather. Another peculiarity of the proceedings was that Massey insisted—although the clergyman was present—on his old mother asking God’s blessing on the feast before it began. All who are acquainted with our liberal-minded vicar will easily understand that he highly approved of the arrangement.

      “To crown all, the feast was conducted on strictly teetotal principles. We have frequently advocated the principles of total abstinence in these columns—at least for the young, the healthy, and the strong—and we are glad to acknowledge that this wedding has greatly helped our cause; for the fun and hilarity in all, the vigour of limb in dancing, and of lung in singing—in short, the general jollity—could not have been surpassed if the guests had been swilling rivers of beer and brandy, instead of oceans of tea. Yes, as one of the Irish guests remarked, ‘It was a great occasion intoirely,’ and it will be long before the event is forgotten, for the noble deeds of our Greyton lifeboat are, from this day forward, intimately and inseparably connected with her coxswain’s wedding!”

      Thus spake the Greyton oracle; but, prophet though that journal professed to be, the oracle failed to discern that from that time forward the names of Robert Massey and Joe Slag would very soon cease to be connected with the Greyton lifeboat.

      Story 1 – Chapter 3

      Soon after the wedding recorded in the last chapter an event occurred which entirely altered the character and current of our coxswain’s career, at least for a time. This was the sudden death of the bed-ridden old mother, who had played such an interesting part at the wedding-feast.

      To our hero, who was a tender-hearted man, and a most affectionate son, the blow was almost overwhelming, although long expected.

      “I don’t think I can stay here much longer,” he said one evening to his pretty wife, as they sat together outside their door and watched the village children romping on the sands; “everything minds me o’ the dear old woman, an’ takes the heart out me. If it wasn’t for you, Nell, I’d have been off to the other side o’ the world long before now, but I find it hard to think o’ takin’ you away from all your old friends and playmates—and your Aunt Betty.”

      A peculiar smile lit up Nellie’s face as her husband concluded.

      “I should be sorry to leave the old friends here,” she replied, “but don’t let that hinder you if ye want to go away. I’d leave everything to please you, Bob. And as to Aunt Betty—well, I’m not ungrateful, I hope, but—but she wouldn’t break her heart at partin’ wi’ me.”

      “Right you are, Nell, as you always was, and always will be,” said Massey. He laughed a short, dry laugh, and was grave again.

      It was quite evident that Aunt Betty would not be a hindrance to the departure of either of them and no wonder, for Betty had received Nellie Carr into her family with a bad grace when her widowed brother, “old Carr,” died, leaving his only child without a home. From that day Betty had brought the poor little orphan up—or, rather, had scolded and banged her up—until Bob Massey relieved her of the charge. To do Aunt Betty justice, she scolded and banged up her own children in the same way; but for these—her own young ones—she entertained and expressed a species of affection which mankind shares in common with cats, while for Nellie Carr she had no such affection, and contrived to make the fact abundantly plain. As we not infrequently find in such circumstances, the favoured children—which numbered seven—became heart-breakers, while the snubbed one turned out the flower of the flock.

      “Then you’re sure you won’t think it hard, Nell, if I ask you to leave home and friends and go wi’ me over the sea?”

      “Yes, Bob, I’m quite sure. I’m willin’ to follow you to the end o’ the world, or further if that’s possible!”

      “Then the thing’s settled,” said Massey, with decision, rising and thrusting his short pipe into his vest pocket, the lining of which had already been twice renewed in consequence of the inroads of that half-extinguished implement.

      In pursuance of his “settled” purpose, our coxswain proceeded to the lifeboat-shed in search of his bowman, Joe Slag, and found him there.

      “Joe,” said he, in the quiet tone that was habitual to him, “Nell and I have made up our minds to go to Australia.”

      “To Austrailly!” exclaimed Slag, leaning his arms on the mop with which he had been washing down the lifeboat.

      “Ay;