18^5 



TIIK AMERICAN BEE-KEEFKIi. 



V>\\) 



perioci (^:^.■ ; ,^i]{'o impossible. H.^ 

 ■was seiisi'.ivo to adcgreo and suffer- 

 ed -undor the chaliing which a lot of 

 larky iiiidsiiipmen find indispensa- 

 ble to fill llitiir leisure hours. 



"I'd like to speak to you, sir, for 

 a minute, " said a huge fellow, the 

 tallest man in the ship, a marine 

 whom we cnllv^d Gog Thompson and 

 who looked after Bescoby's clothes 

 and washin''< as well as mine. 



"Well, w]]nt is it, Gog? Quick, 

 reel it off. Fn] sleepy." 



"Aye, ay.-', sir. It's about Mr. 

 Bescoby. Did be ever talk to you 

 about St. Elmo's light?" 



"Why, .yes. He was curious to see 

 it. Well," what of it?" 



"He's more than curious, sir. 

 He's superstitious about it. Ho 

 thinks ill will have an effect upon 

 his life." 



"Nonsense," said I. "Mr. Besco- 

 by has been chaffing you, Gog." 



"No, sir," replied the big marine 

 earnestly, who loved the handsome 

 young middy as if he had been his 

 son. "I know you are his chvim, 

 sir, and that if I told you you'd talk 

 him out of those ideas. But, please, 

 sir, don't mention that I had any- 

 thing to say about it." 



"Certainly not, Gog." And as the 

 marine saluted and walked forward 

 I remembered that Arthur was su- 

 perstitious and had asked me many 

 things about ghosts, fairies, ban- 

 shees and other uncanny things in- 

 digenous to the isle of Saints. But 

 he had never mentioned St. Elmo's 

 light, that peculiar ball of electric 

 Mght which is occasionally seen in 

 the low latitudes clinging to the 

 trucks and the ends of the yards. 



"I'll IJump him about it today," 

 I thought, and fell asleep. 



That afternoon when I was writ- 

 ing up my individual log Bescoby 

 came into the gunroom. I saw the 

 samo Curious and worried expres- 

 sion on his face that I had observed 

 the night before. 



"Bessy, what the deuce is the 



ruatter wiTJi you? Are you fretting 

 because 3'ou have iwt yet seen St. 

 Elmo's light?" 



"Who has been telling you that 

 yarn, Paddy?" he answered quick- 

 ly, v.riJi a flush of aurjoyance. '*'i 

 know. That big donkey, Gog, has 

 been loading you up with a lot of 

 bosh." 



"Look here, old man," I said, 

 "you confide in me. Now I have 

 talked to you about banshees and 

 ghosts. Tell me about this light 

 business." 



He sat dowai beside me, and put- 

 ting his arm on my shoulder said in 

 a shameful sort of way: 



"My dear Paddy, I'll tell you all. 

 I am a silly duffer, you know, and 

 one week's shooting at Eaglesham 

 Manor settled me. I met there a 

 country woman of yours. I will not 

 describe Nora to you. But here is 

 her j)icture. " 



"Humph !" I thought. "Badly hit 

 indeed," as he took a locket which 

 he wore from a silk cord around his 

 neck, opened it and laid it before 

 me. It was the face of an exceed- 

 ingly beautiful girl — a roguish, 

 laughing face, with clusters of brown 

 curly hair and deep blue eyes. It 

 was well painted. The artist was 

 evidently deeply interested in his 

 subject. 



"That is Nora," he said, and the 

 gentle lowering of the voice as ho 

 pronounced the name of the loved 

 one told the whole story. 



"I congratulate you upon your 

 good taste, Bess. Am I to be best 

 man?" 



"Don't chaff me, Paddy," he said. 

 "Nora is as poor as I am, but she 

 loves mo. Sue will wait for me. I 

 am sure she will. Now, some one 

 has been telling her all about St. 

 Elmo's light, and I promised her 

 that when I saw it I would go aloft 

 and examine it closely and make 

 scientific observations and all that 

 sort of thing. 



"And the last words that Nora 



