CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.
OLD UGGLESTON IS TOO SHARP FOR THE REVENUE.
We did not go over that afternoon till it was growing late, for my father had a number of letters to write, and when we did go along the cliff, and reached the descent to the Gap, to our surprise there lay Jonas Uggleston's lugger, and we knew he had come home.
"Hah!" ejaculated my father after drawing a long breath.

"I shall have to speak at once.

He does not seem to have landed yet." For the lugger was swinging to the buoy that lay about a hundred yards out, and we could see figures on board.
There was a brisk breeze blowing down the Gap, and the lugger was end-on towards us, rising and falling on the swell, while the sea was all rippled by the wind.
"Look, father," I said, as we went on down, seeing each moment more and more of the opening to the sea; "there's a boat coming ashore." "Man-o'-war's," cried my father excitedly.

"Look at the way the oars dip, Sep.

Hah, it's a treat to see the lads handle them again.