Our great fault lies in not consulting God’s plan of arrangement. How often do we find that, in adopting certain lines of action, men consult only the pecuniary or social advantage; ignoring powers, or want of powers, and violating inclinations; and this even among professing Christians; while, among the unbelieving, God’s will and glory are not thought of at all. And yet we wonder that so many well-laid plans miscarry, that so many promising young men and women “come to grief!” Forgetting that “the right man (or woman) in the right place” is an essential element in thorough success.
But, to return to John Potter. His conscience was easy as to his duty in becoming a lightkeeper, and the lighthouse was all that he could wish, or had hoped for. There was no disturbance from without, for the thick walls and solid foundation defied winds or waves to trouble him; save only in the matter of smoke, which often had a strong tendency to traverse the chimney in the wrong direction, but that was not worth mentioning! John found, however, that sin in the person of his mate marred his peace and destroyed his equanimity.
Isaac Dorkin did not find the life so much to his taste as he had expected. He became more grumpy than ever, and quarrelled with his friend on the slightest provocation; insomuch that at last John found it to be his wisest plan to let him alone. Sometimes, in consequence of this pacific resolve, the two men would spend a whole month without uttering a word to each other; the one in the sulks, the other waiting until he should come out of them.
Their duties were light,Their duties were light, but regular. During the day they found a sufficiency of quiet occupation in cooking their food, cleaning the lighting apparatus—which consisted of a framework full of tallow candles,—and in keeping the building clean and orderly. At night they kept watch, each four hours at a time, while the other slept. While watching, John read his Bible and several books which had been given to him by Mr Rudyerd; or, in fine weather, paced round and round the gallery, just outside the lantern, in profound meditation. Dorkin also, during his watches, meditated much; he likewise grumbled a good deal, and smoked continuously. He was not a bad fellow at bottom, however, and sometimes he and Potter got on very amicably. At such seasons John tried to draw his mate into religious talk, but without success. Thus, from day to day and year to year, these two men stuck to their post, until eleven years had passed away.
One day, about the end of that period, John Potter, who, having attained to the age of fifty-two, was getting somewhat grey, though still in full strength and vigour, sat at his chimney corner beside his buxom and still blooming wife. His fireside was a better one than in days of yore,—thanks to Tommy, who had become a flourishing engineer: Mrs Potter’s costume was likewise much better in condition and quality than it used to be; thanks, again, to Tommy, who was a grateful and loving son.
“Well, Martha, I’ve had a pleasant month ashore, lass: I wish that I hadn’t to go off on relief to-morrow.”
“Why not leave it altogether, then, John? You’ve no occasion to continue a light-keeper now that you’ve laid by so much, and Tommy is so well off and able to help us, an’ willin’ too—God bless him!”
“Amen to that, Martha. I have just bin thinkin’ over the matter, and I’ve made up my mind that this is to be my last trip off to the Rock. I spoke to the superintendent last week, and it’s all settled. Who d’ye think is to take my place?”
“I never could guess nothink, John: who?”
“Teddy Maroon: no less.”