anchored in the roads, there were hasty embraces and shakes of the hand
on the pier, and the passengers were rowed out to embark. A few minutes,
and the tinkling of a bell was heard from the shore; another--one more;
her wheels were turning, she was off for Southampton, and the passengers
from Jersey were landing at the quay.

All this, and much more, might John Barker have seen, and probably he
did see it, but found nothing beautiful or exciting in it. He did not
hold his breath as that cutter approached and ran between the
pier-heads, her sail dipping in the wave which bore her in. He saw it a
dozen times that day, and had seen it a hundred times before, but never
cared to see it again. He worked sullenly on, exchanging few words with
his fellow-labourers, till the twilight compelled them to shoulder their
tools; and they then made their way, alas! to the many public-houses
near, and one of them we must enter with John Barker, and see the
Sixpence, that little messenger of good--that talent committed to his
care--far worse than wasted by its responsible owner. Happily, the
payment was not long delayed, and glad shall we be to hide our eyes and
stop our ears from all that goes on without in the till with our little
friend.

It is about midnight, the noisy guests are gone, the people of the house
are in bed, and we may now venture forth from our hiding-place to look
through the chink in the door. It is a clear frosty night. The moon,
just rising, is brightly reflected in the water. The stars are looking
silently down on the sleeping town. Castle Cornet rises gloomily out of
the sea. The moonlit sky, which shows us its outline only, leaves much
to the imagination. We may fancy it a frowning fortress of modern days;
or we may go back two hundred years, and think we see the ruin which
told of its nine-years' siege. But we would rather think of Castle