Whether Jeff Benson drew the moral of Captain Millet’s story for himself or not, we cannot tell; but it is certain that his mates found him after that date a man who was prone to solitary meditations, with occasional fits of absence of mind. They also found him a pleasant companion and a most active comrade in all the duties of his station.

 

Sometimes these duties involved great hardship, and frequent risk to life and limb; for, as is well known, our coastguardsmen not only perambulate our shores in all weathers, but often work the rocket apparatus for saving life from shipwreck, and are frequently called upon to assist the lifeboat-men by putting off to the rescue in their own boats when others are not available. In all these duties Jeffrey Benson did his work with tremendous energy, as might have been expected of one so strong, and with reckless disregard to personal safety, which was appropriate in a hero.

 

One evening, about a year after the period of which we have been writing, Jeff was returning along shore with a party in charge of the rocket-cart, after having rescued the crew of a small coasting vessel—four men and a boy, with the skipper’s wife. The service had been prolonged and pretty severe, but feelings of exhaustion were, for the time at least, banished from the coastguardsmen’s breasts by the joy resulting from success in their heroic work. On the way, the party had to pass close to Miss Millet’s cottage—her “cottage by the sea,” as the romantic old lady was fond of calling it.

 

Jeff—although fatigued and hungry, besides being drenched, dishevelled about the hair, bespattered with mud, and bruised, as well as lacerated somewhat about the hands—determined to pay a short visit to the cottage, being anxious to “have it out” with his confidante about that matter of good being made to come out of evil.

 

“O Jeff!” exclaimed the horrified old lady when he entered, “wounded? perhaps fatally!”

 

“Not quite so bad as that, auntie,” replied Jeff, with a hearty laugh, for Miss Millet’s power to express alarm was wonderful. “I’ll soon put myself to rights when I get back to the station. I ought to apologise for calling in such a plight, but I’ve been thinking much since I last saw you, and I want to have a talk.”

 

“Not till I have bound up all your wounds,” said Miss Millet firmly.

 

Knowing that he would gain his end more quickly by giving in, Jeff submitted to have several fingers of both hands done up with pieces of white rag, and a slight cut across the bridge of his handsome nose ornamented with black sticking-plaster. He not only enjoyed the operation with a sort of reckless joviality, but sought to gratify his friend by encouraging her to use her appliances to the utmost, intending to remove them all when he quitted the cottage. The earnest little woman availed herself fully of the encouragement, but could scarcely refrain from laughing when she surveyed him after the operation was completed.

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