diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/wmnhr10.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/wmnhr10.txt | 8901 |
1 files changed, 8901 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/old/wmnhr10.txt b/old/wmnhr10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9781ba3 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/wmnhr10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8901 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext The Woman-Haters, by Joseph C. Lincoln + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +The Woman-Haters + +by Joseph C. Lincoln + +October, 2000 [Etext #2372] + + +Project Gutenberg Etext The Woman-Haters, by Joseph C. Lincoln +*****This file should be named wmnhr10.txt or wmnhr10.zip***** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, wmnhr11.txt. +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, wmnhr10a.txt. + + +This etext was prepared by Donald Lainson, charlie@idirect.com. + + +We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance +of the official release dates, for time for better editing. + +Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. To be sure you have an +up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes +in the first week of the next month. Since our ftp program has +a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a +look at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a +new copy has at least one byte more or less. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +fifty hours is one conservative estimate for how long it we take +to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour this year as we release thirty-two text +files per month, or 384 more Etexts in 1997 for a total of 1000+ +If these reach just 10% of the computerized population, then the +total should reach over 100 billion Etexts given away. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext +Files by the December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000=Trillion] +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only 10% of the present number of computer users. 2001 +should have at least twice as many computer users as that, so it +will require us reaching less than 5% of the users in 2001. + + +We need your donations more than ever! + + +All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg/CMU": and are +tax deductible to the extent allowable by law. (CMU = Carnegie- +Mellon University). + +For these and other matters, please mail to: + +Project Gutenberg +P. O. Box 2782 +Champaign, IL 61825 + +When all other email fails try our Executive Director: +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +We would prefer to send you this information by email +(Internet, Bitnet, Compuserve, ATTMAIL or MCImail). + +****** +If you have an FTP program (or emulator), please +FTP directly to the Project Gutenberg archives: +[Mac users, do NOT point and click. . .type] + +ftp uiarchive.cso.uiuc.edu +login: anonymous +password: your@login +cd etext/etext90 through /etext96 +or cd etext/articles [get suggest gut for more information] +dir [to see files] +get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files] +GET INDEX?00.GUT +for a list of books +and +GET NEW GUT for general information +and +MGET GUT* for newsletters. + +**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor** +(Three Pages) + + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG- +tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor +Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association at +Carnegie-Mellon University (the "Project"). Among other +things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext +under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this +etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors, +officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost +and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or +indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause: +[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification, +or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- + cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the etext (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the + net profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon + University" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +This etext was prepared by Donald Lainson, charlie@idirect.com. + + + + + +THE WOMAN-HATERS + +by JOSEPH C. LINCOLN + + + + +FOREWORD + +(By Way of Explanation) + +A story of mine called, like this, "The Woman-Haters," appeared +recently in one of the magazines. That story was not this one, +except in part--the part dealing with "John Brown" and Miss Ruth +Graham. Readers of the former tale who perhaps imagine they know +all about Seth Atkins and Mrs. Emeline Bascom will be surprised to +find they really know so little. The truth is that, when I began to +revise and rearrange the magazine story for publication as a book, +new ideas came, grew, and developed. I discovered that I had been +misinformed concerning the lightkeeper's past and present relations +with the housekeeper at the bungalow. And there was "Bennie D." +whom I had overlooked, had not mentioned at all; and that +rejuvenated craft, the Daisy M.; and the high tide which is, or +should be, talked about in Eastboro even yet; all these I had +omitted for the very good reason that I never knew of them. I have +tried to be more careful this time. During the revising process +"The Woman-Haters" has more than doubled in length and, let us hope, +in accuracy. Even now it is, of course, not a novel, but merely a +summer farce-comedy, a "yarn." And this, by the way, is all that it +pretends to be. + +JOSEPH C. LINCOLN. + +May, 1911. + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + +I.--MR. SETH ATKINS + +II.--MR. JOHN BROWN + +III.--MR. BROWN PUTS IN AN APPLICATION + +IV.--THE COMING OF JOB + +V.--THE GOING OF JOSHUA + +VI.--THE PICNIC + +VII.--OUT OF THE BAG + +VIII.--NEIGHBORS AND WASPS + +IX.--THE BUNGALOW GIRL + +X.--THE BUNGALOW WOMAN + +XI.--BEHIND THE SAND DUNE + +XII.--THE LETTER AND THE 'PHONE + +XIII.--"JOHN BROWN" CHANGES HIS NAME + +XIV.--"BENNIE D." + +XV.--THE VOYAGE OF THE Daisy M. + +XVI.--THE EBB TIDE + +XVII.--WOMAN-HATERS + + + +THE WOMAN-HATERS + + +CHAPTER I + +MR. SETH ATKINS + + +The stars, like incandescent lights fed by a fast weakening dynamo, +grew pale, faded, and, one by one, went out. The slate-colored sea, +with its tumbling waves, changed color, becoming a light gray, then +a faint blue, and, as the red sun rolled up over the edge of the +eastern horizon, a brilliant sapphire, trimmed with a silver white +on the shoals and along the beach at the foot of the bluff. + +Seth Atkins, keeper of the Eastboro Twin-Lights, yawned, stretched, +and glanced through the seaward windows of the octagon-shaped, +glass-enclosed room at the top of the north tower, where he had +spent the night just passed. Then he rose from his chair and +extinguished the blaze in the great lantern beside him. Morning had +come, the mists had rolled away, and the dots scattered along the +horizon--schooners, tugs, and coal barges, for the most part--no +longer needed the glare of Eastboro Twin-Lights to warn them against +close proximity to the dangerous, shoal-bordered coast. Incidentally, +it was no longer necessary for Mr. Atkins to remain on watch. He +drew the curtains over the polished glass and brass of the lantern, +yawned again, and descended the winding iron stairs to the door at +the foot of the tower, opened it and emerged into the sandy yard. + +Crossing this yard, before the small white house which the +government provided as a dwelling place for its lightkeepers, he +opened the door of the south tower, mounted the stairs there and +repeated the extinguishing process with the other lantern. Before +again descending to earth, however, he stepped out on the iron +balcony surrounding the light chamber and looked about him. + +The view, such as it was, was extensive. To the east the open sea, +the wide Atlantic, rolling lazily in the morning light, a faint +breeze rippling the surfaces of the ground-swell. A few sails in +sight, far out. Not a sound except the hiss and splash of the surf, +which, because of a week of calms and light winds, was low even for +that time of year--early June. + +To the north stretched the shores of the back of the Cape. High +clay bluffs, rain-washed and wrinkled, sloping sharply to the white +sand of the beach a hundred feet below. Only one building, except +those connected with the lighthouses, near at hand, this a small, +gray-shingled bungalow about two hundred yards away, separated from +the lights by the narrow stream called Clam Creek--Seth always spoke +of it as the "Crick"--which, turning in behind the long surf-beaten +sandspit known, for some forgotten reason, as "Black Man's Point," +continued to the salt-water pond which was named "The Cove." A path +led down from the lighthouses to a bend in the "Crick," and there, +on a small wharf, was a shanty where Seth kept his spare lobster and +eel-pots, dory sails, nets, and the like. The dory itself, with the +oars in her, was moored in the cove. + +A mile off, to the south, the line of bluffs was broken by another +inlet, the entrance to Pounddug Slough. This poetically named +channel twisted and wound tortuously inland through salt marshes and +between mudbanks, widening at last to become Eastboro Back Harbor, a +good-sized body of water, with the village of Eastboro at its upper +end. In the old days, when Eastboro amounted to something as a +fishing port, the mackerel fleet unloaded its catch at the wharves +in the Back Harbor. Then Pounddug Slough was kept thoroughly +dredged and buoyed. Now it was weed-grown and neglected. Only an +occasional lobsterman's dory traversed its winding ways, which the +storms and tides of each succeeding winter rendered more difficult +to navigate. The abandoned fish houses along its shores were +falling to pieces, and at intervals the stranded hulk of a fishing +sloop or a little schooner, rotting in the sun, was a dismal +reminder that Eastboro's ambitious young men no longer got their +living alongshore. The town itself had gone to sleep, awakening +only in the summer, when the few cottagers came and the Bay Side +Hotel was opened for its short season. + +Behind the lighthouse buildings, to the west--and in the direction +of the village--were five miles of nothing in particular. A +desolate wilderness of rolling sand-dunes, beach grass, huckleberry +and bayberry bushes, cedar swamps, and small clumps of pitch-pines. +Through this desert the three or four rutted, crooked sand roads, +leading to and from the lights, turned and twisted. Along their +borders dwelt no human being; but life was there, life in abundance. +Ezra Payne, late assistant keeper at the Twin-Lights, was ready at +all times to furnish evidence concerning the existence of this life. + +"My godfreys domino!" Ezra had exclaimed, after returning from a +drive to Eastboro village, "I give you my word, Seth, they dummed +nigh et me alive. They covered the horse all up, so that he looked +for all the world like a sheep, woolly. I don't mind moskeeters in +moderation, but when they roost on my eyelids and make 'em so heavy +I can't open 'em, then I'm ready to swear. But I couldn't get even +that relief, because every time I unbattened my mouth a million or +so flew in and choked me. That's what I said--a million. Some +moskeeters are fat, but these don't get a square meal often enough +to be anything but hide-racks filled with cussedness. Moskeeters! +My godfreys domino!" + +Ezra was no longer assistant lightkeeper. He and his superior had +quarreled two days before. The quarrel was the culmination, on +Ezra's part, of a gradually developing "grouch" brought on by the +loneliness of his surroundings. After a night of duty he had +marched into the house, packed his belongings in a battered canvas +extension case, and announced his intention of resigning from the +service. + +"To the everlastin' brimstone with the job!" he snarled, addressing +Mr. Atkins, who, partially dressed, emerged from the bedroom in +bewilderment and sleepy astonishment. "To thunder with it, I say! +I've had all the gov'ment jobs I want. Life-savin' service was bad +enough, trampin' the condemned beach in a howlin' no'theaster, with +the sand cuttin' furrers in your face, and the icicles on your +mustache so heavy you got round-shouldered luggin' 'em. But when +your tramp was over, you had somebody to talk to. Here, by +godfreys! there ain't nothin' nor nobody. I'm goin' fishin' again, +where I can be sociable." + +"Humph!" commented Seth, "you must be lonesome all to once. Ain't +my company good enough for you?" + +"Company! A heap of company you are! When I'm awake you're alseep +and snorin' and--" + +"I never snored in my life," was the indignant interruption + +"What? YOU'LL snore when you're dead, and wake up the whole +graveyard. Lonesome!" he continued, without giving his companion a +chance to retort, "lonesome ain't no name for this place. No +company but green flies and them moskeeters, and nothin' to look at +but salt water and sand and--and--dummed if I can think of anything +else. Five miles from town and the only house in sight shut tight. +When I come here you told me that bungalow was opened up every year--" + +"So it has been till this season." + +"And that picnics come here every once in a while." + +"Don't expect picnickers to be such crazy loons as to come here in +winter time, do you?" + +"I don't know. If they're fools enough to come here ANY time, I +wouldn't be responsible for 'em. There ain't so many moskeeters in +winter. But just LOOK at this hole. Just put on your specs and +LOOK at it! Not a man--but you--not a woman, not a child, not a +girl--" + +"Ah ha! ah ha! NOW we're gettin' at it! Not a girl! That's what's +the matter with you. You want to be up in the village, where you +can go courtin'. You're too fur from Elsie Peters, that's where the +shoe pinches. I've heard how you used to set out in her dad's +backyard, with your arm round her waist, lookin' at each other, +mushy as a couple of sassers of hasty-puddin'. Bah! I'll take care +my next assistant ain't girl-struck." + +"Girl-struck! I'd enough sight ruther be girl-struck than always +ravin' and rippin' against females. And all because some woman way +back in Methusalem's time had sense enough to heave you over. At +least, that's what everybody cal'lates must be the reason. You +pretend to be a woman-hater. All round this part of the Cape you've +took pains to get up that kind of reputation; but--" + +"There ain't no pretendin' about it. I've got brains enough to keep +clear of petticoats. And when you get to be as old as I be and know +as much as I do--though that ain't no ways likely, even if you live +to be nine hundred and odd, like Noah in Scripture--you'll feel the +same way." + +"Aw, come off! Woman-hater! You hate women same as the boy at the +poorhouse hated ice cream--'cause there ain't none around. Why, I +wouldn't trust you as fur as I could see you!" + +This was the end of the dialogue, because Mr. Payne was obliged to +break off his harangue and dodge the stove-lifter flung at him by +the outraged lightkeeper. As the lifter was about to be followed by +the teakettle, Ezra took to his heels, bolted from the house and +began his long tramp to the village. When he reached the first +clumps of bayberry bushes bordering the deeply rutted road, a joyful +cloud of mosquitoes rose and settled about him like a fog. + +So Seth Atkins was left alone to do double duty at Eastboro Twin- +Lights, pending the appointment of another assistant. The two days +and nights following Ezra's departure had been strenuous and +provoking. Doing all the housework, preparation of meals included, +tending both lights, rubbing brass work, sweeping and scouring, +sleeping when he could and keeping awake when he must, nobody to +talk to, nobody to help--the forty-eight hours of solitude had +already convinced Mr. Atkins that the sooner a helper was provided +the better. At times he even wished the disrespectful Payne back +again, wished that he had soothed instead of irritated the departed +one. Then he remembered certain fragments of their last conversation +and wished the stove-lifter had been flung with better aim. + +Now, standing on the gallery of the south tower, he was conscious of +a desire for breakfast. Preparing that meal had been a part of his +assistant's duties. Now he must prepare it himself, and he was +hungry and sleepy. He mentally vowed that he would no longer delay +notifying the authorities of the desertion, and would urge them to +hurry in sending some one to fill the vacant place. + +Grumbling aloud to himself, he moved around the circle of the +gallery toward the door. His hand was on the latch, when, turning, +he cast another glance over the rail, this time directly downward +toward the beach below. And there he saw something which caused him +to forget hunger and grievances of all kinds; something which, after +one horrified look to make sure, led him to dart into the light +chamber, spring at a reckless gait down the winding stair, out of +the tower, rush to the edge of the bluff, and plunge headlong down +the zigzag path worn in the clay. + +On the sand, at the foot of the bluff below the lights, just beyond +reach of the wash of the surf, lay a man, or the dead body of a man, +stretched at full length. + + +CHAPTER II + +MR. JOHN BROWN + + +Once before, during his years of service as keeper of Eastboro Twin- +Lights, had Seth seen such a sight as that which now caused him to +make his dash for the shore. Once before, after the terrible storm +of 1905, when the great steamer Bay Queen went down with all on +board, the exact spot of her sinking unknown even to this day. Then +the whole ocean side of the Cape, from Race Point to Orham, was +strewn with ghastly relics. But the Bay Queen met her fate in the +winter season, amid a gale such as even the oldest residents could +not remember. Now it was early summer; the night before had been a +flat calm. There had been no wreck, or the lifesavers would have +told him of it. There would be no excuse for a wreck, anyway. + +All this, in disjointed fragments, passed through the lightkeeper's +mind as he descended the path in frantic bounds and plowed through +the ankle-deep white sand of the beach. As he approached the +recumbent figure he yelled a panted "Hi, there!" He did not expect +the hail to be answered or even noticed. Therefore, he was +pleasantly disappointed when the figure rolled over, raised itself +on one elbow, looked at him in a dazed sort of way and replied +cheerfully but faintly, "Hello!" + +Seth stopped short, put a hand to the breast of his blue flannel +shirt, and breathed a mighty sigh of relief. + +"Gosh!" he exclaimed with fervor. Then, changing his labored gallop +for a walk, he continued his progress toward the man, who, as if his +momentary curiosity was satisfied, lay down again. He did not rise +when the lightkeeper reached his side, but remained quiet, looking +up from a pair of gray eyes and smiling slightly with lips that were +blue. He was a stranger to Atkins, a young fellow, rather good +looking, dressed in blue serge trousers, negligee shirt, blue socks, +and without shoes or hat. His garments were soaked, and the salt +water dripped from his shoulders to the sand. The lightkeeper +stared at him, and he returned the stare. + +"Gosh!" repeated Seth, after an instant of silence. "Jiminy crimps! +I feel better." + +The stranger's smile broadened. "Glad to hear it, I'm sure," he +said, slowly. "So do I, though there's still room for improvement. +What was your particular ailment? Mine seems to have been water on +the brain." + +He sat up and shakily ran a hand through his wet hair as he spoke. +Atkins, his surprise doubled by this extraordinary behavior, could +think of nothing to say. + +"Good morning," continued the young man, as if the meeting had been +the most casual and ordinary possible; "I think you said a moment +ago that you were feeling better. No relapse, I trust." + +"Relapse? What in the world? Are you crazy? I ain't sick." + +"That's good. I must have misunderstood you. Pleasant morning, +isn't it? + +"Pleasant morn-- Why, say! I--I--what in time are you doin', +layin' there all soaked through? You scared me pretty nigh to +death. I thought you was drowned, sure and sartin." + +"Did you? Well, to be honest, so did I, for a while. In fact, I'm +not absolutely sure that I'm not, even yet. You'll excuse me if I +lie down again, won't you? I never tried a seaweed pillow before, +but it isn't so bad." + +He again stretched himself on the sand. Seth shook his head. + +"Well, if this don't beat me!" he exclaimed. "You're the coolest +critter that ever I--I--" + +"I am cool," admitted the young man, with a slight shiver. "This +stretch of ocean here isn't exactly a Turkish bath. I've been +swimming since--well, an hour or two ago, and I am just a little +chilled." + +He shivered again. + +"Swimmin'! An hour or two? Where on earth did you come from?" + +"Oh, I fell overboard from a steamer off here somewhere. I--" + +Another and emphatic shiver caused him to pause. The lightkeeper +awoke to the realities of the situation. + +"Good land of love!" he exclaimed. "What am I thinkin' of? Seein' +you this way, and you talkin' so kind of every-day and funny drove +my senses clean out, I guess. Get right up off that wet place this +minute. Come up to the house, quick! Can you walk?" + +"Don't know. I am willing to try. Would you mind giving me a +lift?" + +Seth didn't mind, which was fortunate, as his new acquaintance +couldn't have risen unaided. His knees shook under him when he +stood erect, and he leaned heavily on the lightkeeper's arm. + +"Steady now," counselled Atkins; "no hurry. Take it easy. If +you've navigated water all alone for hours, I cal'late between us we +can manage to make a five-minute cruise on dry land. . . . Even if +the course we steer would make an eel lame tryin' to follow it," he +added, as the castaway staggered and reeled up the beach. "Now +don't try to talk. Let your tongue rest and give your feet a +chance." + +The climbing of the steep bluff was a struggle, but they accomplished +it, and at length the stranger was seated in a chair in the kitchen. + +"Now, the fust thing," observed Seth, "is to get them wet clothes +off you. Usually I'd have a good fire here, but that miserable Ezry +has--that is, my assistant's left me, and I have to go it alone, as +you might say. So we'll get you to bed and . . . No, you can't +undress yourself, neither. Set still, and I'll have you peeled in a +jiffy." + +His guest was making feeble efforts to remove his socks. Atkins +pushed him back into the chair and stripped the blue and dripping +rags from feet which were almost as blue from cold. The castaway +attempted a weak resistance, but gave it up and said, with a +whimsical smile: + +"I'm mightily obliged to you. I never realized before that a valet +was such a blessing. Most of mine have been confounded nuisances." + +"Hey?" queried Seth, looking up. + +"Nothing. Pardon me for comparing you with a valet." + +"Land sakes! I don't care what you call me. I was out of my head +once myself--typhoid fever 'twas--and they say the things I called +the doctor was somethin' scandalous. You ain't responsible. You're +beat out, and your brain's weak, like the rest of you. Now hold on +till I get you a nightgown." + +He started for the bedroom. The young man seemed a bit troubled. + +"Just a minute," he observed. "Don't you think I had better move to +a less conspicuous apartment? The door is open, and if any of your +neighbors should happen by--any ladies, for instance, I--" + +"Ladies!" Mr. Atkins regarded him frowningly. "In the fust place, +there ain't a neighbor nigher'n four miles; and, in the next, I'd +have you understand no women come to this house. If you knew me +better, young feller, you'd know that. Set where you be." + +The nightshirt was one of the lightkeeper's own, and, although Seth +was a good-sized man, it fitted the castaway almost too tightly for +comfort. However, it was dry and warm and, by leaving a button or +two unfastened at the neck, answered the purpose well enough. The +stranger was piloted to the bedroom, assisted into the depths of a +feather bed, and covered with several layers of blankets and +patchwork quilts. + +"There!" observed Seth, contentedly, "now you go to sleep. If you +get to sweatin', so much the better. 'Twill get some of that cold +water out of you. So long!" + +He departed, closing the door after him. Then he built a fire in +the range, got breakfast, ate it, washed the dishes and continued +his forenoon's work. Not a sound from the bedroom. Evidently the +strange arrival had taken the advice concerning going to sleep. But +all the time he was washing dishes, rubbing brass work or sweeping, +Mr. Atkins's mind was busy with the puzzle which fate had handed +him. Occasionally he chuckled, and often he shook his head. He +could make nothing out of it. One thing only was certain--he had +never before met a human being exactly like this specimen. + +It was half past twelve before there were signs of life in the +bedroom. Seth was setting the table for dinner, when the door of +the room opened a little way, and a voice said: + +"I say, are you there?" + +"I be. What do you want?" + +"Would you mind telling me what you've done with my clothes?" + +"Not a bit. I've got 'em out on the line, and they ain't dry yet. +If you'll look on the chair by the sou'west window you'll find a +rig-out of mine. I'm afraid 'twill fit you too quick--you're such +an elephant--but I'll risk it if you will." + +Apparently the stranger was willing to risk it, for in a few moments +he appeared, dressed in the Atkins Sunday suit of blue cloth, and +with Seth's pet carpet slippers on his feet. + +"Hello!" was the lightkeeper's greeting. "How you feelin'?-- +better?" + +"Tip top, thank you. Where do you wash, when it's necessary?" + +"Basin right there in the sink. Soap in the becket over top of it. +Roller towel on the closet door. Ain't you had water enough for a +spell?" + +"Not fresh water, thank you. I'm caked with salt from head to +foot." + +"Does make a feller feel like a split herrin', if he ain't used to +it. Think you can eat anything?" + +"Can I?" The response was enthusiastic. "You watch me! My last +meal was yesterday noon." + +"Yesterday NOON! Didn't you eat no supper?" + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +"Well, I--well, to be frank, because I hadn't the price. It took my +last cent to pay my fare on that blessed steamer." + +"Great land of love! What time was it when you fell overboard?" + +"Oh, I don't know. Two o'clock, perhaps." + +"Two o'clock! What was you doin' up at two o'clock? Why wasn't you +in your stateroom asleep?" + +"I hadn't any stateroom. Staterooms cost money." + +"My soul! And you swum three hours on an empty stomach?" + +"Not altogether. Part of it on my back. But, if you'll excuse +familiarity on short acquaintance, those things you're cooking smell +good to me." + +"Them's clam fritters, and, if YOU'LL excuse my sayin' so that +shouldn't, they ARE good. Set down and fill up." + +The visitor ate nine of the fritters, a slice of dried-apple pie, +and drank two cups of coffee. Seth, between intervals of frying and +eating, watched him with tremendous curiosity and as much patience +as he could muster. When the pie was finished he asked the first of +the questions with which he had been bursting all the forenoon. + +"Tell me," he said, "how'd you come to fall overboard?" + +"I'm not very certain just how it happened. I remember leaning over +the rail and watching the waves. Then I was very dizzy all at once. +The next thing I knew I was in the water." + +"Dizzy, hey? Seasick, may be." + +"I guess not. I'm a pretty good sailor. I'm inclined to think the +cause was that empty stomach you mentioned." + +"Um-hm. You didn't have no supper. Still, you ate the noon afore." + +"Not much. Only a sandwich." + +"A sandwich! What did you have for breakfast?" + +"Well, the fact is, I overslept and decided to omit the breakfast." + +"Gosh! no wonder you got dizzy. If I went without meals for a whole +day I cal'late I'd be worse than dizzy. What did you do when you +found yourself in the water?" + +"Yelled at first, but no one heard me. Then I saw some lights off +in this direction and started to swim for them. I made the shore +finally, but I was so used up that I don't remember anything after +the landing. Think I took a nap." + +"I presume likely. Wonder 'twasn't your everlastin' nap! Tut! tut! +tut! Think of it!" + +"I don't want to, thank you. It isn't pleasant enough to think of. +I'm here and--by the way, where IS here?" + +"This is Eastboro township--Eastboro, Cape Cod. Them lights out +there are Eastboro Twin-Lights. I'm the keeper of 'em. My name's +Atkins, Seth Atkins." + +"Delighted to meet you, Mr. Atkins. And tremendously obliged to +you, besides." + +"You needn't be. I ain't done nothin'. Let me see, you said your +name was--" + +"Did I?" The young man seemed startled, almost alarmed. "When?" + +Seth was embarrassed, but not much. "Well," he admitted, "I don't +know's you did say it, come to think of it. What IS your name?" + +"My name?" + +"Yes." + +"Oh, why--my name is Brown--er--John Brown. Not the gentleman who +was hanged, of course; distant relative, that's all." + +"Hum! John Brown, hey? What steamer did you fall off of?" + +"Why--why--I can't seem to remember. That's odd, isn't it?" + +"Yes, I should say 'twas. Where was she bound?" + +"Bound? Oh, you mean where was she going?" + +"Sartin." + +"I think--I think she was going to--to. . . . Humph! how strange +this is!" + +"What?" + +"Why, that I should forget all these things." + +The lightkeeper regarded his guest with suspicion. + +"Yaas," he drawled slowly, "when you call it strange you ain't +exaggeratin' none wuth mentionin'. I s'pose," he added, after a +moment, during which he stared intently at Mr. Brown, who smiled in +polite acknowledgment of the stare; "I s'pose likely you couldn't +possibly remember what port you hailed from?" + +"I suppose not," was the calm reply. + +Seth rose from the table. + +"Well," he observed, "I've been up all night, too, and it's past my +bedtime. As I told you, my assistant's left all of a sudden and I'm +alone in charge of gov'ment property. I ought to turn in, but--" he +hesitated. + +John Brown also rose. + +"Mr. Atkins," he said, "my memory seems to be pretty bad, but I +haven't forgotten everything. For instance," his smile disappeared, +and his tone became earnest, "I can remember perfectly well that I'm +not a crook, that I haven't done anything to be ashamed of--as I see +it--that I'm very grateful to you, and that I don't steal. If you +care to believe that and, also, that, being neither a sneak or a +thief, I sha'n't clear out with the spoons while you're asleep, you +might--well, you might risk turning in." + +The lightkeeper did not answer immediately. The pair looked each +other straight in the eye. + +Then Seth yawned and turned toward the bedroom. + +"I’ll risk it," he said, curtly. "If I ain't awake by six o'clock I +wish you'd call me. You'll find some spare clay pipes and tobacco +on the mantelpiece by the clock. So long." + +He entered the bedroom and closed the door. Mr. Brown stepped over +to the mantel and helped himself to a pipe. + + +CHAPTER III + +MR. BROWN PUTS IN AN APPLICATION + + +At half past five the lightkeeper opened the bedroom door and peeped +out. The kitchen was empty. There was no sign of Mr. Brown. It +took Seth just four minutes to climb into the garments he had +discarded and reach the open air. His guest was seated on the bench +beside the house, one of the clay pipes in his hand. He was looking +out to sea. He spoke first: + +"Hello!" he said. "You're up ahead of time, aren't you? It isn't +six yet." + +Atkins grinned. "No," he answered, "'tain't! not quite. But sence +Ezry cleared out I've been a kind of human alarm clock, as you might +say. Feelin' all right, are you?" + +"Yes, thank you. I say," holding up the pipe and regarding it +respectfully, "is this tobacco of yours furnished by the government?" + +"No. Some I bought myself last time I was over to the Center. Why, +what's the matter with it? Ain't it good?" + +"Perhaps so." + +"Then what made you ask? Ain't it strong enough?" + +"Strong enough! You're disposed to be sarcastic. It's stronger +than I am. What do they flavor it with--tar?" + +"Say, let's see that plug. THAT ain't smokin' tobacco." + +"What is it, then--asphalt?" + +"Why, haw! haw! That's a piece of Ezry's chewin'. Some he left +when he went away. It's 'Honest Friend.' 'TIS flavored up +consider'ble. And you tried to smoke it! Ho! ho!" + +The young man joined in the laugh. + +"That explains why it bubbled so," he said. "I used twenty-two +matches, by actual count, and then gave it up. Bah!" he smacked his +lips disgustedly and made a face: "'Honest Friend'--is that the name +of it? Meaning that it'll stick to you through life, I presume. +Water has no effect on the taste; I've tried it." + +"Maybe some supper might help. I'll wash the dinner dishes and +start gettin' it. All there seems to be to this job of mine just +now is washin' dishes. And how I hate it!" + +He reentered the kitchen. Then he uttered an exclamation: + +"Why, what's become of the dishes?" he demanded. "I left 'em here +on the table." + +Brown arose from the bench and sauntered to the door. + +"I washed them," he said. "I judged that you would have to if I +didn't, and it seemed the least I could do, everything considered." + +"Sho! You washed the dishes, hey? Where'd you put 'em?" + +"In the closet there. That's where they belong, isn't it?" + +Seth went to the closet, took a plate from the pile and inspected +it. + +"Um!" he grunted, turning the plate over, "that ain't such a bad +job. Not so all-fired bad, for a green hand. What did you wash 'em +with?" + +"A cloth I found hanging by the sink." + +"I see. Yes, yes. And you wiped 'em on--what?" + +"Well, to tell you the truth, I didn't see any towels in sight, +except that one on the door; and, for various reasons, I judged that +wasn't a dish towel." + +"Good judgment. 'Tisn't. Go on." + +"So I hunted around, and in the closet in the parlor, or living +room, or whatever you call it, I found a whole stack of things that +looked like towels; so I used one of those." + +"Is this it?" Seth picked up a damp and bedraggled cloth from the +table. + +"That's it. I should have hung it up somewhere, I suppose. I'll +lose my job if I don't look out." + +"Um! Well, I'm much obliged to you, only--" + +"Only?" + +"Only you washed them dishes with the sink cloth and wiped 'em with +a piller case." + +The volunteer dishwasher's mouth opened. + +"NO!" he gasped. + +"Ya-as." + +"A pillow case! Well, by George!" + +"Um-hm. I jedge you ain't washed many dishes in your lifetime." + +"Not so very many. No." + +They looked at each other and burst into a roar of laughter. Brown +was the first to recover. + +"Well," he observed, "I guess it's up to me. If you'll kindly put +me next to a genuine cloth, or sponge, or whatever is the proper +caper for dish-washing, I'll undertake to do them over again. And, +for heaven's sake, lock up the pillow cases." + +Seth protested, declaring that the dishes need not be rewashed that +very minute, and that when he got a chance he would do them himself. +But the young man was firm, and, at last, the lightkeeper yielded. + +"It's real kind of you," he declared, "and bein' as I've +consider'ble to do, I don't know but I'll let you. Here's a couple +of dishcloths, and there's the towels. I'm goin' out to see to the +lights, and I'll be back pretty soon and get supper." + +Later in the evening, after supper, the housework done, they sat +again on the bench beside the door, each with a pipe, filled, this +time, with genuine smoking tobacco. Before and below them was the +quiet sea, rolling lazily under the stars. Overhead the big +lanterns in the towers thrust their parallel lances of light afar +into the darkness. The only sounds were the low wash of the surf +and the hum of the eager mosquitoes. Brown was silent, alternately +puffing at the pipe and slapping at the insects, which latter, +apparently finding his skin easier to puncture than that of the +tanned and leathery Atkins, were making the most of their +opportunity. + +Seth, whose curiosity had been checked but not smothered by his +companion's evident desire to say nothing concerning himself, was +busy thinking of various guileful schemes with which to entrap the +castaway into the disclosure of his identity. Having prepared his +bait, he proceeded to get over a line. + +"Mr. Brown," he said, "I ain't mentioned it to you afore, 'count of +your needin' rest and grub and all after your fallin' overboard last +night. But tomorrer you'll be feelin' fustrate again, and I +cal'late you'll be wantin' to get word to your folks. Now we can +telephone to the Eastboro depot, where there's a telegraph, and the +depot master'll send a dispatch to your people, lettin' 'em know +you're all safe and sound. If you'll just give me the address and +what you want to say, I'll 'tend to it myself. The depot master's a +good friend of mine, and he'll risk sending the dispatch 'collect' +if I tell him to." + +"Thank you," replied Brown, shortly. + +"Oh, don't mention it. Now who'll I send it to?" + +"You needn't send it. I couldn't think of putting you to further +trouble." + +"Trouble! 'Tain't no trouble to telephone. Land sakes, I do it +four or five times a day. Now who'll I send it to?" + +"You needn't send it." + +"Oh, well, of course, if you'd ruther send it yourself--" + +"I sha'n't send it. It really isn't worth while 'phoning or +telegraphing either. I didn't drown, and I'm very comfortable, +thank you--or should be if it weren't for these mosquitoes." + +"Comf'table! Yes, you're comf'table, but how about your folks? +Won't they learn, soon's that steamer gets into--into Portland--or-- +or--New York or Boston--or . . . Hey?" + +"I didn't speak." + +Seth swallowed hard and continued. "Well, wherever she was bound," +he snapped. "Won't they learn that you sot sail in her and never +got there? Then they'll know that you MUST have fell overboard." + +John Brown drew a mouthful of smoke through the stem of the pipe and +blew it spitefully among the mosquitoes. + +"I don't see how they'll learn it," he replied. + +"Why, the steamer folks'll wire em right off." + +"They'll have to find them first." + +"That'll be easy enough. There'll be your name, 'John Brown,' of +such and such a place, written right on the purser's book, won't it." + +"No," drawled Mr. Brown, "it won't." + +The lightkeeper felt very much as if this particular road to the +truth had ended suddenly in a blind alley. He pulled viciously at +his chin whiskers. His companion shifted his position on the bench. +Silence fell again, as much silence as the mosquitoes would permit. + +Suddenly Brown seemed to reach a determination. + +"Atkins," he said briskly, and with considerable bitterness in his +tone, "don't you worry about my people. They don't know where I am, +and--well, some of them, at least, don't care. Maybe I'm a rolling +stone--at any rate, I haven't gathered any moss, any financial moss. +I'm broke. I haven't any friends, any that I wish to remember; I +haven't any job. I am what you might call down and out. If I had +drowned when I fell overboard last night, it might have been a good +thing--or it might not. We won't argue the question, because just +now I'm ready to take either side. But let's talk about yourself. +You're lightkeeper here?" + +"I be, yes." + +"And these particular lights seem to be a good way from everywhere +and everybody." + +"Five mile from Eastboro Center, sixteen from Denboro, and two from +the nighest life savin' station. Why?" + +"Oh, just for instance. No neighbors, you said?" + +"Nary one." + +"I noticed a bungalow just across the brook here. It seems to be +shut up. Who owns it?" + +"Bunga--which? Oh, that cottage over on t'other side the crick? +That b'longs to a couple of paintin' fellers from up Boston way. +Not house painters, you understand, but fellers that put in their +time paintin' pictures of the water and the beach and the like of +that. Seems a pretty silly job for grown-up men, but they're real +pleasant and folksy. Don't put on no airs nor nothin.' They're +most gen'rally here every June and July and August, but I understand +they ain't comin' this year, so the cottage'll be shut up. I'll +miss 'em, kind of. One of 'em's name is Graham and t'other's +Hamilton." + +"I see. Many visitors to the lights?" + +"Not many. Once in a while a picnic comes over in a livery four- +seater, but not often. The same gang never comes twice. Road's too +bad, and they complain like fury about the moskeeters." + +"Do they? How peevish! Atkins, you're not married?" + +It was an innocent question, but it had an astonishing effect. The +lightkeeper bounced on the bench as if someone had kicked it +violently from beneath. + +"What?" he quavered shrilly. "Wha--what's that?" + +Brown was surprised. "I asked if you were married, that's all," he +said. "I can't see--" + +"Stop!" Seth's voice shook, and he bent down to glare through the +darkness at his companion's face. "Stop!" he ordered. "You asked +me if I was--married?" + +"Yes. Why shouldn't I?" + +"Why shouldn't you? See here, young feller, you--you--what made you +ask that?" + +"What made me?" + +"Stop sayin' my words after me. Are you a man or a poll-parrot? +Can't you understand plain United States language? What made you? +Or WHO made you? Who told you to ask me that question?" + +He pounded the bench with his fist. The pair stared at each other +for a moment; then Brown leaned back and began to whistle. Seth +seized him by the shoulders. + +"Quit that foolishness, d'you hear?" he snarled. "Quit it, and +answer me!" + +The answer was prefaced by a pitying shake of the head. + +"It's the mosquitoes," observed the young man, musingly. "They get +through and puncture the brain after a time, I presume. I'm not +surprised exactly, but," with a sigh, "I'm very sorry." + +"What are you talkin' about," demanded Atkins. "Be you crazy?" + +"No-o. I'M not." + +"YOU'RE not! Do you mean that I am?" + +"Well," slowly, "I'm not an expert in such cases, but when a +perfectly simple, commonplace question sets a chap to pounding and +screaming and offering violence, then--well, it's either insanity or +an attempt at insult, one or the other. I've given you the benefit +of the doubt." + +He scratched a match on his heel and relit his pipe. The +lightkeeper still stared, suspicious and puzzled. Then he drew a +long breath. + +"I--I didn't mean to insult you," he stammered. + +"Glad to hear it, I'm sure. If I were you, however, I should see a +doctor for the other trouble." + +"And I ain't crazy, neither. I beg your pardon for hollerin' and +grabbin' hold of you." + +"Granted." + +"Thank ye. Now," hesitatingly, "would you mind tellin' me why you +asked me if I was married?" + +"Not in the least. I asked merely because it occurred to me that +you might be. Of course, I had seen nothing of your wife, but it +was barely possible that she was away on a visit, or somewhere. +There is no regulation forbidding lightkeepers marrying--at least, I +never heard of any--and so I asked; that's all." + +Seth nodded. "I see," he said, slowly; "yes, yes, I see. So you +didn't have no special reason." + +"I did not. Of course, if I had realized that you were subject to-- +er--fits, I should have been more careful." + +"Hum! . . . Well, I--I beg your pardon again. I--I am kind of +touchy on some p'ints. Didn't I tell you no women came here? +Married! A wife! Do I look like a dum fool?" + +"Not now." + +"Well, then! And I've apologized for bein' one a few minutes ago, +ain't I." + +"Yes, you have. No grudge on my part, I assure you. Let's forget +it and talk of something else." + +They did, but the dialogue was rather jerky. Brown was thinking, +and Atkins seemed moody and disinclined to talk. After a time he +announced that it was getting late and he cal'lated he would go up +to the light room. "You'd better turn in," he added, rising. + +"Just a minute," said the young man. "Wait just a minute. Atkins, +suppose I asked you another question--would you become violent at +once? or merely by degrees?" + +Seth frowned. The suspicious look returned to his face. + +"Humph!" he grunted. "Depended on what you asked me, maybe." + +"Yes. Well, this one is harmless--at least, I hope it is. I +thought the other was, also, but I . . . There! there! be calm. +Sit down again and listen. This question is nothing like that. +It's about that assistant of yours, the chap who left a day or two +before I drifted in. What were his duties? What did he have to do +when he was here?" + +"Wa-al," drawled Seth with sarcasm, resuming his seat on the bench; +"he was SUPPOSED to do consider'ble many things. Stand watch and +watch with me, and scrub brass and clean up around, and sweep and +wash dishes and--and--well, make himself gen'rally useful. Them was +the duties he was supposed to have. What he done was diff'rent. +Pesky loafer! Why?" + +"That's what I'm going to tell you. Have they appointed his +successor yet? Have you got any one to take his place?" + +"No. Fact is, I'd ought to have telegraphed right off to the Board, +but I ain't. I was so glad to see the last of him that I kept +puttin' it off. I'll do it tomorrer." + +"Perhaps you won't need to." + +"Course I'll need to! Why not? Got to have somebody to help. +That's rules and regulations; and, besides, I can't keep awake day +and night, too. What makes you think I won't need to?" + +The young man knocked the ashes from his pipe. Rising, he laid a +hand on his companion's shoulder. + +"Because you've got an assistant right here on the premises," he +said. "Delivered by the Atlantic express right at your door. Far +be it from me to toot my horn, Mr. Atkins, or to proclaim my merits +from the housetops. But, speaking as one discerning person to +another, when it comes to an A1, first chop lightkeeper's assistant, +I ask: 'What's the matter with yours truly, John Brown?'" + +Seth's reply was not in words. The hand holding his pipe fell limp +upon his lap, and he stared at the speaker. The latter, entirely +unabashed, waved an airy gesture, and continued. + +"I repeat," he said, "'What's the matter with John Brown?' And echo +answers, 'He's all right!' I am a candidate for the position of +assistant keeper at Eastboro Twin-Lights." + +"YOU?" + +"Me." + +"But--but--aw, go on! You're foolin'." + +"Not a fool. I mean it. I am here. I'm green, but in the sunshine +of your experience I agree to ripen rapidly. I can wash dishes-- +you've seen me. I believe I could scrub brass and sweep." + +"You wantin' to be assistant at a place like this! YOU! an +edicated, able young chap, that's been used to valets and servants +and--" + +"Why do you say that? How do you know I've been used to those +things?" + +"'Cause, as I hinted to you a spell ago, I ain't altogether a dum +fool. I can put two and two together and make four, without having +the example done for me on a blackboard. You're a rich man's son; +you've been used to sassiety and city ways and good clothes. YOU +wantin' to put in your days and nights in a forsaken hole like this! +Nonsense! Get out!" + +But Mr. Brown refused to get out. + +"No nonsense about it," he declared. "It is the hand of Fate. With +the whole broadside of Cape Cod to land upon, why was I washed +ashore just at this particular spot? Answer:--Because at this spot, +at this time, Eastboro Twin-Lights needed an assistant keeper. I +like the spot. It is beautiful. 'Far from the madding crowd's +ignoble strife.' With your permission, I'll stay here. The leopard +may or may not change his spots, but I sha'n't. I like this one and +here I stay. Yes, I mean it. I stay--as your assistant. Come, +what do you say? Is it a go?" + +The lightkeeper rose once more. "I'm goin' on watch," he said with +decision. "You turn in. You'll feel better in the mornin'." + +He started towards the tower. But John Brown sprang from the bench +and followed him. + +"Not until you've answered my question," he declared. "AM I to be +your assistant?" + +"No, course you ain't. It's dum foolishness. Besides, I ain't got +the say; the government hires its own keepers." + +"But you can square the government. That will be easy. Why," with +a modest gesture, "look what the government is getting. It will +jump at the chance. Atkins, you must say yes." + +"I sha'n't, neither. Let go of my arm. It's blame foolishness, I +tell you. Why," impatiently, "course it's foolishness! I don't +know the first thing about you." + +"What of it? I don't know anything about you, either." + +Again the lightkeeper seemed unaccountably agitated. He stopped in +his stride and whirled to face his companion. + +"What do you mean by that?" he demanded fiercely. Before the young +man could reply, he turned again, strode to the door of the light, +flung it open, and disappeared within. The door closed behind him +with a thunderous bang. + +John Brown gazed after him in bewilderment. Then he shrugged his +shoulders and returned to the bench. + +The surf at the foot of the bluff grumbled and chuckled wickedly, as +if it knew all of poor humanity's secrets and found a cynic's +enjoyment in the knowledge. + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE COMING OF JOB + + +The next morning Seth was gloomy and uncommunicative. At the +breakfast table, when Brown glanced up from his plate, he several +times caught the lightkeeper looking intently at him with the +distrustful, half-suspicious gaze of the night before. Though quite +aware of this scrutiny, he made no comment upon it until the meal +was nearly over; then he observed suddenly: + +"It's all right; you needn't." + +"Needn't what?" demanded Atkins, in astonishment. + +"Look at me as if you expected me to explode at any minute. I +sha'n't. I'm not loaded." + +Seth colored, under his coat of sunburn, and seemed embarrassed. + +"I don't know what you're talkin' about," he stammered. "Have the +moskeeters affected YOUR brains?" + +"No. My brains, such as they are, are all right, and I want to keep +them so. That's why I request you not to look at me in that way." + +"How was I lookin' at you? I don't know what you mean." + +"Yes, you do. You are wondering how much I know. I don't know +anything and I'm not curious. That's the truth. Now why not let it +go at that?" + +"See here, young feller, I--" + +"No; you see here. I'm not an Old Sleuth; I haven't any ambitions +that way. I don't know anything about you--what you've been, what +you've done--" + +"Done!" Seth leaned across the table so suddenly that he upset his +chair. "Done?" he cried; "what do you mean by that? Who said I'd +done anything? It's a lie." + +"What is a lie?" + +"Why--why--er--whatever they said!" + +"Who said?" + +"Why, the ones that--that said what you said they said." + +"I didn't say anyone had said anything." + +"Then what do you mean by--by hintin'? Hey? What do you mean by +it?" + +He brandished a clenched fist over the breakfast dishes. Brown +leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. + +"Call me when the patient recovers his senses," he drawled wearily. +"This delirium is painful to a sensitive nature." + +Atkins's fist wavered in mid-air, opened, and was drawn across its +owner's forehead. + +"Well, by jiminy!" exclaimed the lightkeeper with emphasis, "this +is--is-- . . . I guess I BE crazy. If I ain't, you are. Would you +mind tellin' me what in time you mean by THAT?" + +"It is not the mosquitoes," continued his companion, in apparent +soliloquy; "there are no mosquitoes at present. It must be the +other thing, of course. But so early in the morning, and so +violent. Alcohol is--" + +"SHUT UP!" It was not a request, but an order. Brown opened his +eyes. + +"You were addressing me?" he asked, blandly. "Yes?" + +"Addressin' you! For thunder sakes, who else would I be ad-- . . . +There! there! Now I cal'late you're hintin' that I'm drunk. I +ain't." + +"Indeed?" + +"Yes, indeed. And I ain't out of my head--not yet; though keepin' +company with a Bedlamite may have some effect, I shouldn't wonder. +Mr. John Brown--if that's your name, which I doubt--you listen to +me." + +"Very well, Mr. Seth Atkins--if that is your name, which I neither +doubt nor believe, not being particularly interested--I'm listening. +Proceed." + +"You told me last night that you wanted the job of assistant keeper +here at these lights. Course you didn't mean it." + +"I did." + +"You DID! . . . Well, YOU must be drunk or loony." + +"I'm neither. And I meant it. I want the job." + +Seth looked at him, and he looked at Seth. At length the +lightkeeper spoke again. + +"Well," he said, slowly, "I don't understand it at all, but never +mind. Whatever happens, we've got to understand each other. Mind I +don't say the job's yours, even if we do; but we can't even think of +it unless we understand each other plain. To begin with, I want to +tell you that I ain't done nothin' that's crooked, nor wicked, nor +nothin' but what I think is right and what I'd do over again. Do +you believe that?" + +"Certainly. As I told you, I'm not interested, but I'll believe it +with pleasure if you wish me to." + +"I don't wish nothin'. You've GOT to believe it. And whether you +stay here ten minutes or ten years you've got to mind your own +business. I won't have any hints or questions about me--from you +nor nobody else. 'Mind your own business,' that's the motto of +Eastboro Twin-Lights, while I'm boss of 'em. If you don't like it-- +well, the village is only five mile off, and I'll p'int out the road +to you." + +He delivered this ultimatum with extraordinary energy. Then he +reached for his overturned chair, set it on its legs, and threw +himself into it. "Well," he demanded, after a moment; "what do you +say to that?" + +"Hurrah!" replied Mr. Brown cheerfully. + +"Hurrah? For the land sakes! . . . Say, CAN'T you talk sensible, +if you try real hard and set your mind to it? What is there to +hurrah about?" + +"Everything. The whole situation. Atkins," Brown leaned forward +now and spoke with earnestness, "I like your motto. It suits me. +'Mind your own business' suits me down to the ground. It proves +that you and I were made to work together in a place just like +this." + +"Does, hey? I want to know!" + +"You do know. Why, just think: each of us has pleaded 'not guilty.' +We've done nothing--we're entirely innocent--and we want to forget +it. I agree not to ask you how old you are, nor why you wear your +brand of whiskers, nor how you like them, nor--nor anything. I +agree not to ask questions at all." + +"Humph! but you asked some last night." + +"Purely by accident. You didn't answer them. You asked me some, +also, if you will remember, and I didn't answer them, either. Good! +We forget everything and agree not to do it again." + +"Ugh! I tell you I ain't done nothin'." + +"I know. Neither have I. Let the dead past be its own undertaker, +so far as we are concerned. I'm honest, Atkins, and tolerably +straight. I believe you are; I really do. But we don't care to +talk about ourselves, that's all. And, fortunately, kind Providence +has brought us together in a place where there's no one else TO +talk. I like you, I credit you with good taste; therefore, you must +like me." + +"Hey? Ho, ho!" Seth laughed, in spite of himself. "Young man," he +observed, "you ain't cultivated your modesty under glass, have you?" + +Brown smiled. "Joking aside," he said, "I don't see why I +shouldn't, in time, make an ideal assistant lightkeeper. Give me a +trial, at any rate. I need an employer; you need a helper. Here we +both are. Come; it is a bargain, isn't it? Any brass to be +scrubbed--boss?" + + +Of course, had Eastboro Twin-Lights been an important station, the +possibility of John Brown's remaining there would have been +nonexistent. If it had been winter, or even early spring or fall, a +regular assistant would have been appointed at once, and the +castaway given his walking papers. If Seth Atkins had not been Seth +Atkins, particular friend of the district superintendent, matters +might have been different. But the Eastboro lights were +unimportant, merely a half-way mark between Orham on the one hand +and the powerful Seaboard Heights beacon on the other. It was the +beginning of summer, when wrecks almost never occurred. And the +superintendent liked Seth, and Seth liked him. So, although Mr. +Atkins still scoffed at his guest's becoming a permanent fixture at +the lights, and merely consented, after more parley, to see if he +couldn't arrange for him to "hang around and help a spell until +somebody else was sent," the conversation with the superintendent +over the long distance 'phone resulted more favorably for Brown than +that nonchalant young gentleman had a reasonable right to expect. + +"The Lord knows who I can send you now, Atkins!" said the +superintendent. "I can't think of a man anywhere that can be +spared. If you can get on for a day or two longer, I'll try to get +a helper down! but where he's coming from I don't see." + +Then Seth sprung the news that he had a "sort of helper" already. +"He's a likely young chap enough," admitted the lightkeeper, +whispering the words into the transmitter, in order that the "likely +young chap" might not hear; "but he's purty green yet. He wants the +reg'lar job and, give me time enough, I cal'late I can break him in. +Yes, I'm pretty sure I can. And it's the off season, so there +really ain't no danger. In a month he'd be doin' fust-rate." + +"Who is he? Where did he come from?" asked the superintendent. + +"Name's Brown. He come from--from off here a ways," was the +strictly truthful answer. "He used to be on a steamboat." + +"All right. If you'll take a share of the responsibility, I'll take +the rest. And, as soon as I can, I'll send you a regular man." + +"I can't pay you no steady wages," Seth explained to his new helper. +"Salaries come from the gov'ment, and, until they say so, I ain't +got no right to do it. And I can't let you monkey with the lights, +except to clean up around and such. If you want to stay a spell, +until an assistant's app'inted, I'll undertake to be responsible for +your keep. And if you need some new shoes or stockin's or a cap, or +the like of that, I'll see you get 'em. Further'n that I can't go +yet. It's a pretty poor job for a fellow like you, and if I was you +I wouldn't take it." + +"Oh, yes, you would," replied Brown, with conviction. "If you were +I, you would take it with bells on. Others may yearn for the +strenuous life, but not your humble servant. As for me, I stay here +and 'clean up around.'" + +And stay he did, performing the cleaning up and other duties with +unexpected success and zeal. Atkins, for the first day or two, +watched him intently, being still a trifle suspicious and fearful of +his "substitute assistant." But as time passed and the latter asked +no more questions, seemed not in the least curious concerning his +superior, and remained the same cool, easy-going, cheerful +individual whom Seth had found asleep on the beach, the +lightkeeper's suspicions were ended. It was true that Brown was as +mysterious and secretive as ever concerning his own past, but that +had been a part of their bargain. Atkins, who prided himself on +being a judge of human nature, decided that his helper was a young +gentleman in trouble, but that the trouble, whatever it might be, +involved nothing criminal or dishonest. That he was a gentleman, he +was sure--his bearing and manner proved that; but he was a gentleman +who did not "put on airs." Not that there was any reason why he +should put on airs, but, so far as that was concerned, there was no +apparent reason for the monumental conceit and condescension of some +of the inflated city boarders in the village. Brown was not like +those people at all. + +Seth had taken a fancy to him at their first meeting. Now his +liking steadily increased. Companionship in a lonely spot like +Eastboro Twin-Lights is a test of a man's temper. Brown stood the +test well. If he made mistakes in the work--and he did make some +ridiculous ones--he cheerfully undid them when they were pointed out +to him. He was, for the most part, good-natured and willing to +talk, though there were periods when he seemed depressed and +wandered off by himself along the beach or sat by the edge of the +bluff, staring out to sea. The lightkeeper made no comment on this +trait in his character. It helped to confirm his own judgment +concerning the young fellow's trouble. People in trouble were +subject to fits of the "blues," and during these fits they liked to +be alone. Seth knew this from his own experience. There were times +when he, too, sought solitude. + +He trusted his helper more and more. He did not, of course, permit +him to take the night watch in the lights, but he did trust him to +the extent of leaving him alone for a whole afternoon while he drove +the old horse, attached to the antique "open wagon"--both steed and +vehicle a part of the government property--over to Eastboro to +purchase tobacco and newspapers at the store. On his return he +found everything as it should be, and this test led him to make +others, each of which was successful in proving John Brown faithful +over a few things and, therefore, in time, to be intrusted with many +and more important ones. + +Brown, on his part, liked Seth. He had professed to like him during +the conversation at the breakfast table which resulted in his +remaining at the lights, but then he was not entirely serious. He +was, of course, grateful for the kindness shown him by the odd +longshoreman and enjoyed the latter's society and droll remarks as +he would have enjoyed anything out of the ordinary and quaintly +amusing. But now he really liked the man. Seth Atkins was a +countryman, and a marked contrast to any individual Brown had ever +met, but he was far from being a fool. He possessed a fund of dry +common sense, and his comments on people and happenings in the +world--a knowledge of which he derived from the newspapers and +magazines obtained on his trips to Eastboro--were a constant +delight. And, more than all, he respected his companion's desire to +remain a mystery. Brown decided that Atkins was, as he had jokingly +called him, a man with a past. What that past might be, he did not +know or try to learn. "Mind your own business," Seth had declared +to be the motto of Eastboro Twin-Lights, and that motto suited both +parties to the agreement. + +The lightkeeper stood watch in the tower at night. During most of +the day he slept; but, after the first week was over, and his trust +in his helper became more firm, he developed the habit of rising at +two in the afternoon, eating a breakfast--or dinner, or whatever the +meal might be called--and wandering off along the crooked road +leading south and in the direction of Pounddug Slough. The road, +little used and grass grown, twisted and turned amid the dunes until +it disappeared in a distant grove of scrub oaks and pitch pines. +Each afternoon--except on Sundays and on the occasions of his +excursions to the village--Atkins would rise from the table, saunter +to the door to look at the weather, and then, without excuse or +explanation, start slowly down the road. For the first hundred +yards he sauntered, then the saunter became a brisk walk, and when +he reached the edge of the grove he was hurrying almost at a dog +trot. Sometimes he carried a burden with him, a brown paper parcel +brought from Eastboro, a hammer, a saw, or a coil of rope. Once he +descended to the boathouse at the foot of the bluff by the inlet and +emerged bearing a big bundle of canvas, apparently an old sail; this +he arranged, with some difficulty, on his shoulder and stumbled up +the slope, past the corner of the house and away toward the grove. +Brown watched him wonderingly. Where was he going, and why? What +was the mysterious destination of all these tools and old junk? +Where did Seth spend his afternoons and why, when he returned, did +his hands and clothes smell of tar? The substitute assistant was +puzzled, but he asked no questions. And Seth volunteered no +solution of the puzzle. + +Yet the solution came, and in an unexpected way. Seth drove to the +village one afternoon and returned with literature, smoking +materials and an announcement. The latter he made during supper. + +"I tried to buy that fly paper we wanted today," he observed, as a +preliminary. "Couldn't get none. All out." + +"But will have some in very shortly, I presume," suggested the +assistant, who knew the idiosyncrasies of country stores. + +"Oh, yes, sartin! Expectin' it every minute. That store's got a +consider'ble sight more expectations in it than it has anything +else. They're always six months ahead of the season or behind it in +that store. When it's so cold that the snow birds get chilblains +they'll have the shelves chuck full of fly paper. Now, when it's +hotter than a kittle of pepper tea, the bulk of their stock is ice +picks and mittens. Bah! However, they're goin' to send the fly +paper over when it comes, along with the dog." + +"The dog?" repeated Brown in amazement. + +"Yup. That's what I was goin' to tell you--about the dog. I +ordered a dog today. Didn't pay nothin' for him, you understand. +Henry G., the storekeeper, gave him to me. The boy'll fetch him +down when he fetches the fly paper." + +"A dog? We're--you're going to keep a dog--here?" + +"Sure thing. Why not? Got room enough to keep a whole zoological +menagerie if we wanted to, ain't we? Besides, a dog'll be handy to +have around. Bill Foster, the life saver, told me that somebody +busted into the station henhouse one night a week ago and got away +with four of their likeliest pullets. He cal'lates 'twas tramps or +boys. We don't keep hens, but there's some stuff in that boathouse +I wouldn't want stole, and, bein' as there's no lock on the door, a +dog would be a sort of protection, as you might say." + +"But thieves would never come way down here." + +"Why not? 'Tain't any further away from the rest of creation than +the life savin' station, is it? Anyhow, Henry G. give the dog to me +free for nothin', and that's a miracle of itself. You'd say so, +too, if you knew Henry. I was so surprised that I said I'd take it +right off; felt 'twould be flyin' in the face of Providence not to. +A miracle--jumpin' Judas! I never knew Henry to give anybody +anything afore--unless 'twas the smallpox, and then 'twan't a +genuine case, nothin' but varioloid." + +"But what kind of a dog is it?" + +"I don't know. Henry used to own the mother of it, and she was one +quarter mastiff and the rest assorted varieties. This one he's +givin' me ain't a whole dog, you see; just a half-grown pup. The +varioloid all over again--hey? Ho, ho! I didn't really take him +for sartin, you understand; just on trial. If we like him, we'll +keep him, that's all." + +The third afternoon following this announcement, Brown was alone in +the kitchen, and busy. Seth had departed on one of his mysterious +excursions, carrying a coil of rope, a pulley and a gallon can of +paint. Before leaving the house he had given his helper some +instructions concerning supper. + +"Might's well have a lobster tonight," he said. "Ever cook a +lobster, did you?" + +No, Mr. Brown had never cooked a lobster. + +"Well, it's simple enough. All you've got to do is bile him. Bile +him in hot water till he's done." + +"I see." The substitute assistant was not enthusiastic. Cooking he +did not love. + +"Humph!" he grunted. "I imagined if he was boiled at all, it was be +in hot water, not cold." + +Atkins chuckled. "I mean you want to have the water bilin' hot when +you put him in," he explained. "Wait till she biles up good and +then souse him; see?" + +"I guess so. How do you know when he's done?" + +"Oh--er--I can't tell you. You'll have to trust to your instinct, I +cal'late. When he looks done, he IS done, most gen'rally speakin'." + +"Dear me! how clear you make it. Would you mind hintin' as to how +he looks when he's done?" + +"Why--why, DONE, of course." + +"Yes, of course. How stupid of me! He is done when he looks done, +and when he looks done he is done. Any child could follow those +directions. HOW is he done--brown?" + +"No. Brown! the idea! Red, of course. He's green when you put him +in the kittle, and when you take him out, he's red. That's one way +you can tell." + +"Yes, that will help some. All right, I'll boil him till he's red, +you needn't worry about that." + +"Oh, I sha'n't worry. So long. I'll be back about six or so. Put +him in when the water's good and hot, and you'll come out all right." + +"Thank you. I hope HE will, but I have my doubts. Where is he?" + +"Who? the lobster? There's dozens down in the car by the wharf. +Lift the cover and fish one out with the dip net. Pick out the +biggest one you can find, 'cause I'm likely to be hungry when I get +back, and your appetite ain't a hummin' bird's. There! I've got to +go if I want to get anything done afore-- . . . Humph! never mind. +So long." + +He hurried away, as if conscious that he had said more than he +intended. At the corner of the house he turned to call: + +"I say! Brown! be kind of careful when you dip him out. None of +'em are plugged." + +"What?" + +"I say none of them lobsters' claws are plugged. I didn't have time +to plug the last lot I got from my pots, so you want to handle 'em +careful like, else they'll nip you. Tote the one you pick out up to +the house in the dip-net; then you'll be all right." + +Evidently considering this warning sufficient to prevent any +possible trouble, he departed. John Brown seated himself in the +armchair by the door and gazed at the sea. He gazed and thought +until he could bear to think no longer; then he rose and entered the +kitchen, where he kindled a fire in the range and filled a kettle +with water. Having thus made ready the sacrificial altar, he took +the long-handled dip-net from its nail and descended the bluff to +the wharf. + +The lobster car, a good-sized affair of laths with a hinged cover +closing the opening in its upper surface, was floating under the +wharf, to which it was attached by a rope. Brown knelt on the +string-piece and peered down at it. It floated deep in the water, +the tide rippling strongly through it, between the laths. The cover +was fastened with a wooden button. + +The substitute assistant, after a deal of futile and exasperating +poking with the handle of the net, managed to turn the button and +throw back the leather-hinged cover. Through the square opening the +water beneath looked darkly green. There was much seaweed in the +car, and occasionally this weed was stirred by living things which +moved sluggishly. + +John Brown reversed the net, and, lying flat on the wharf, gingerly +thrust the business end of the contrivance through the opening and +into the dark, weed-streaked water. Then he began feeling for his +prey. + +He could feel it. Apparently the car was alive with lobsters. As +he moved the net through the water there was always one just before +it or behind it; but at least ten minutes elapsed before he managed +to get one in it. At length, when his arms were weary and his +patience almost exhausted, the submerged net became heavy, and the +handle shook in his grasp. He shortened his hold and began to pull +in hand over hand. He had a lobster, a big lobster. + +He could see a pair of claws opening and shutting wickedly. He +raised the creature through the opening, balanced the net on its +edge, rose on one knee, tried to stand erect, stumbled, lost his +hold on the handle and shot the lobster neatly out of the meshes, +over the edge of the car, and into the free waters of the channel. +Then he expressed his feelings aloud and with emphasis. + +Five minutes later he got another, but it was too small to be of +use. In twenty minutes he netted three more, two of which got away. +The third, however, he dragged pantingly to the wharf and sat beside +it, gloating. It was his for keeps, and it was a big one, the +great-grandaddy of lobsters. Its claws clashed and snapped at the +twine of the net like a pair of giant nut crackers. + +Carrying it as far from his body as its weight at the end of the +handle would permit, he bore it in triumph to the kitchen. To boil +a lobster alive had seemed a mean trick, and cruel, when Seth Atkins +first ordered him to do it. Now he didn't mind; it would serve the +thing right for being so hard to catch. Entering the kitchen, he +balanced the net across a chair and stepped to the range to see if +the water was boiling. It was not, and for a very good reason--the +fire had gone out. Again Mr. Brown expressed his feelings. + +The fire, newly kindled, had burned to the last ash. If he had been +there to add more coal in season, it would have survived; but he had +been otherwise engaged. There was nothing to be done except rake +out the ashes and begin anew. This he did. When he removed the +kettle he decided at once that it was much too small for the purpose +required of it. To boil a lobster of that size in a kettle of that +size would necessitate boiling one end at a time, and that, both for +the victim and himself, would be troublesome and agonizing. He +hunted about for a larger kettle and, finding none, seized in +desperation upon the wash boiler, filled it, and lifted it to the +top of the stove above the flickering new fire. + +The fire burned slowly, and he sat down to rest and wait. As he +sank into the chair--not that across which the netted lobster was +balanced, but another--he became aware of curious sounds from +without. Distant sounds they were, far off and faint, but growing +steadily louder; wails and long-drawn howls, mournful and +despairing. + +"A-a-oo-ow! Aa-ow-ooo!" + +"What in the world?" muttered Brown, and ran out of the kitchen and +around the corner of the house. + +There was nothing in sight, nothing strange or unusual, that is. +Joshua, Seth's old horse, picketted to a post in the back yard and +grazing, or trying to graze, on the stubby beach grass, was the only +living exhibit. But the sounds continued and grew louder. + +"Aa-ow-ooo! Ow-oo-ow-ooo!" + +Over the rise of a dune, a hundred yards off, where the road to +Eastboro village dipped towards a swampy hollow, appeared a horse's +head and the top of a covered wagon. A moment later the driver +became visible, a freckled faced boy grinning like a pumpkin +lantern. The horse trotted through the sand up to the lights. +Joshua whinnied as if he enjoyed the prospect of company. From the +back of the wagon, somewhere beneath the shade of the cover, arose a +heartrending wail, reeking of sorrow and agony. + +"Aa-ow-OOO! Ooo-aa-OW!" + +"For heaven's sake," exclaimed the lightkeeper's helper, running to +meet the vehicle, "what is the matter?" + +The boy grinned more expansively than ever. "Whoa!" he shouted, to +the horse he was driving. The animal stopped in his tracks, +evidently glad of the opportunity. Another howl burst from the +covered depths of the wagon. + +"I've got him," said the boy, with a triumphant nod and a jerk of +his thumb over his shoulder. "He's in there." + +"He? Who? What?" + +"Job. He's in there. Hear him? He's been goin' on like that ever +since he finished his bone, and that was over two mile back. Say," +admiringly, "he's some singer, ain't he! Hear that, will ye?" + +Another wail arose from the wagon. Brown hastened to the rear of +the vehicle, on the canvas side of which were painted the words +"Henry G. Goodspeed, Groceries, Dry and Fancy Goods and Notions, +Eastboro," and peered in over the tailboard. The interior of the +wagon was well nigh filled by a big box with strips of board nailed +across its top. From between these strips a tawny nose was +uplifted. As the helper stared wonderingly at the box and the nose, +the boy sprang from his seat and joined him. + +"That's him," declared the boy. "Hi, there, Job, tune up now! +What's the matter with ye?" + +His answer was an unearthly howl from the box, accompanied by a +mighty scratching. The boy laughed delightedly. + +"Ain't he a wonder?" he demanded. "Ought to be in church choir, +hadn't he." + +Brown stepped on the hub of a rear wheel, and, clinging to the post +of the wagon cover, looked down into the box. The creature inside +was about the size of a month old calf. + +"It's a--it's a dog," he exclaimed. "A dog, isn't it?" + +"Sure, it's a dog. Or he'll be a dog when he grows up. Nothin' but +a pup now, he ain't. where's Seth?" + +"Seth? Oh, Mr. Atkins; he's not here." + +"Ain't he? Where's he gone?" + +"I don't know." + +"Don't ye? When's he comin' back? HUSH UP!" This last was a +command to the prisoner in the box, who paid absolutely no attention +to it. + +"I don't know when he'll be back. Do you want to see him +personally? Won't I do? I'm in charge here till he returns." + +"Be ye? Oh, you're the new assistant from Boston. You'll do. All +I want to do is unload him--Job, I mean--and leave a couple bundles +of fly paper Seth ordered. Here!" lowering the tailboard and +climbing into the wagon, you catch aholt of t'other end of the box, +and I'll shove on this one. Hush up, Job! Nobody's goin' to eat +ye--'less it's the moskeeters. Now, then, mister, here he comes." + +He began pushing the box toward the open end of the wagon. The +dog's whines and screams and scratchings furnished an accompaniment +almost deafening. + +"Wait! Stop! For heaven's sake, wait!" shouted Brown. "What are +you putting that brute off here for? I don't want him." + +"Yes, you do. Seth does, anyhow. Henry G. made him a present of +Job last time Seth was over to the store. Didn't he tell ye?" + +Then the substitute assistant remembered. This was the "half-grown +pup" Atkins had said was to be brought over by the grocery boy. +This was the creature they were to accept "on trial." + +"Well, by George!" he exclaimed in disgust. + +"Didn't Seth tell ye?" asked the boy again. + +"Yes. . . . Yes, I believe he did. But--" + +"Then stand by while I unload him. Here he comes now. H'ist him +down easy as you can." + +That was not too easy, for the end of the box slid from the tail- +board to the ground with a thump that shook the breath from the +prisoner within. But the breath came back again and furnished +motive power for more and worse howls and whines. Joshua pricked up +his ears and trotted to the further end of his halter. + +"There!" said Henry G.'s boy, jumping to the ground beside the box, +"that's off my hands, thank the mercy! Here's your fly paper. Five +dozen sheets. You must have pretty nigh as many flies down here as +you have moskeeters. Well, so long. I got to be goin'." + +"Wait a minute," pleaded Brown. "What shall I do with this--er-- +blessed dog? Is he savage? Why did you bring him in a crate--like +a piano?" + +"'Cause 'twas the easiest way. You couldn't tie him up, not in a +cart no bigger'n this. Might's well tie up an elephant. Besides, +he won't stay tied up nowheres. Busted more clotheslines than I've +got fingers and toes, that pup has. He needs a chain cable to keep +him to his moorin's. Don't ye, Job, you old earthquake? Hey?" + +He pounded on the box, and the earthquake obliged with a renewed +series of shocks and shakings. + +The lightkeeper's assistant smiled in spite of himself. + +"Who named him Job?" he asked. + +"Henry G.'s cousin from Boston. He said he seemed to be always +sufferin' and fillin' the land with roarin's, like Job in the Bible. +So, bein' as he hadn't no name except cuss words, that one stuck. I +cal'late Henry G.'s glad enough to get rid of him. Ho! ho!" + +"Did Mr. Atkins see his--this--did he see his present before he +accepted it?" + +"No. That's the best part of the joke. Well," clambering to his +seat and picking up the reins, "I've got five mile of sand and +moskeeters to navigate, so I've got to be joggin'. Oh, say! goin' +to leave him in the box there, be ye?" + +"I guess so, for the present." + +"Well, I wouldn't leave him too long. He's stronger'n Samson and +the Philippines rolled together, and he's humped up his back so much +on the way acrost that he's started most of the nails in them slats +over top of him. I tell ye what you do: Give him a bone or a chunk +of tough meat to chaw on. Then he'll rest easy for a spell. +Goodbye. I wish I could stay and see Seth when he looks at his +present, but I can't. Gid-dap, January." + +The grocery wagon rolled out of the yard. The forsaken Job sent a +roar of regret after him. Also, he "humped us his back," and the +nails holding the slats in place started and gave alarmingly. John +Brown hastened to the house in quest of a bone. + + +CHAPTER V + +THE GOING OF JOSHUA + + +He found one, after a time, the relic of a ham, with a good deal of +meat on it. Atkins, economical soul, would have protested in horror +against the sinful waste, but his helper would cheerfully have +sacrificed a whole hog to quiet the wails from the box in the yard. +He pushed the ham bone between the slats, and Job received it +greedily. The howls and whines ceased and were succeeded by +gnawings and crunchings. Brown returned to the kitchen to inspect +his neglected fire. + +This time the fire was not out, but it burned slowly. The water in +the wash boiler was only lukewarm. The big lobster in the net +balanced on the chair clashed his claws wickedly as the substitute +assistant approached. The door had been left open, and the room +hummed with flies. Brown shut the door and, while waiting for the +water to heat, separated a dozen sheets of the sticky fly paper and +placed them in conspicuous places. He wondered as he did so what +some of his former acquaintances would say if they could see him. +He--HE--a cook, and a roustabout, a dishwasher and a scrubber of +brass at Eastboro Twin-Lights! How long must he stay there? For +months at least. He should be thankful that he was there; thankful +that there was such a place, where no one came and where he could +remain until he was forgotten. He was thankful, of course he was. +But what a life to live! + +He wondered what Atkins thought of him; how much the lightkeeper +guessed concerning his identity and his story. He could not guess +within miles of the truth, but he must indulge in some curious +speculations. Then he fell to wondering about Seth himself. What +was it that the light-keeper was hiding from the world? Odd that +two people, each possessing a secret, should come together at that +lonely spot. Where was it that Seth went almost every afternoon? +Had these daily absences any connection with the great mystery? + +He distributed the sheets of fly paper about the room, in places +where he judged them likely to do the most good, and had the +satisfaction of seeing a number of the tormenting insects caught +immediately. Then he tested the water in the boiler. It was +warmer, even hot, but not boiling. + +He had almost forgotten the dog, but now was reminded by the animal +itself, who, having apparently swallowed the bone whole, began once +more to howl lugubriously. Brown decided to let him howl for the +present, and, going into the living-room, picked up an old magazine +and began listlessly to read. + +The howls from the yard continued, swelled to a crescendo of shrieks +and then suddenly ceased. A moment later there was a thump and a +mighty scratching at the kitchen door. The substitute assistant +dropped the magazine and sprang from his chair. + +"Good Lord!" he exclaimed; "I believe--" + +He did not finish the sentence. There was no need. If he had any +doubts as to the cause of the racket at the door they were dispelled +by a howl like a fog whistle. "Job" had escaped from durance vile +and was seeking companionship. + +Brown muttered an exclamation of impatience and, opening the door a +very little way, peeped through the crack. The pup--he looked like +a scrawny young lion--hailed his appearance with a series of wild +yelps. His mouth opened like a Mammoth Cave in miniature, and a +foot of red tongue flapped like a danger signal. + +"Get out, you brute!" ordered Brown. + +Job did not get out. Instead he yelped again and capered with the +grace of a cow. His feet and legs seemed to have grown out of +proportion to the rest of him; they were enormous. Down the length +of his yellow back were three raw furrows which the nails of the box +cover had scraped as he climbed from under them. + +"Nice dog!" coaxed the lightkeeper's helper. "Nice doggie! Good +old boy!" + +The good old boy pranced joyfully and made a charge at the door. +Brown slammed it shut just in time. + +"Clear out!" he yelled, from behind it. "Go away! Go and lie +down!" + +The answer was a mighty howl of disappointment and an assault on the +door which threatened to shatter the panels. Job's paws were armed +with claws proportionate to their size. + +This would never do. The paint on that door had been furnished by +the government, and Atkins was very careful of it. Brown, within, +pounded a protest and again commanded the dog to go and lie down. +Job, without, thumped and scratched and howled louder than ever. He +had decidedly the best of the duet, and the door was suffering every +second. Brown picked up the fire shovel and threw the door wide +open. + +"Get out!" he roared. "Get out or I'll kill you!" + +He brandished the shovel, expecting an assault. But none came. It +was evident that Job knew a shovel when he saw it, had encountered +other shovels in the course of his brief young life. His ears and +tail drooped, and he backed away. + +"Clear out!" repeated Brown, advancing threateningly. With each +step of the advance, Job retreated a corresponding distance. When +the assistant stopped, he stopped. Brown lowered the shovel and +looked at him. The dog grovelled in the sand and whined dolefully. + +"Humph!" grunted the young man; "I guess you're not as dangerous as +you look. Stay where you are and keep still." + +He turned to enter the kitchen, turning again just in time to find +the pup at his heels. He lifted the shovel, and Job jumped +frantically out of reach, sat down in a clump of beach grass, lifted +his nose to the sky and expressed his feelings in a howl of utter +misery. + +"Good--heavens!" observed John Brown fervently, and, shifting the +shovel to his left hand, rubbed his forehead with his right. Job +howled once more and gazed at him with sorrowful appeal. The +situation was so ridiculous that the young man began to laugh. This +merriment appeared to encourage the pup, who stopped howling and +began to caper, throwing the loose sand from beneath his paws in +showers. + +"What's the matter, old boy?" inquired Brown. "Lonesome, are you?" + +Job was making himself the center of a small-sized sand spout. + +"Humph! Well . . . well, all right. I'm not going to hurt you. +Stay where you are, and I won't shut the door." + +But this compromise was not satisfactory, because the moment the +young man started to cross the threshold the dog started to follow. +When Brown halted, he followed suit--and howled. Then the +substitute assistant surrendered unconditionally. + +"All right," he said. "Come in, then, if you want to. Come in! but +for goodness sake keep still when you are in." + +He strode into the kitchen, leaving the door open. Job slunk after +him, and crouched with his muzzle across the sill, evidently not yet +certain that his victory was complete. He did not howl, however, +and his late adversary was thankful for the omission. + +Brown bethought himself of the water in the wash boiler and, +removing the cover, tested it with his finger. It was steadily +heating, but not yet at the boiling point. He pushed the boiler +aside, lifted a lid of the range and inspected the fire. From +behind him came a yelp, another, a thump, and then a series of +thumps and yelps. He turned and saw Job in the center of the floor +apparently having a fit. + +The moment his back was turned, the pup had sneaked into the +kitchen. It was not a large kitchen, and Job was distinctly a large +dog. Also, he was suspicious of further assaults with the fire +shovel and had endeavored to find a hiding place under the table. +In crawling beneath this article of furniture he had knocked off a +sheet of the fly paper. This had fallen "butter side down" upon his +back, and stuck fast. He reached aft to pull it loose with his +teeth and had encountered a second sheet laid on a chair. This had +stuck to his neck. Job was an apprehensive animal by nature and as +the result of experience, and his nerves were easily unstrung. He +forgot the shovel, forgot the human whom he had been fearfully +trying to propitiate, forgot everything except the dreadful objects +which clung to him and pulled his hair. He rolled from beneath the +table, a shrieking, kicking, snapping cyclone. And that kitchen was +no place for a cyclone. + +He rolled and whirled for an instant, then scrambled to his feet and +began running in widening circles. Brown tried to seize him as he +passed, but he might as well have seized a railroad train. Another +chair, also loaded with fly paper, upset, and Job added a third +sheet to his collection. This one plastered itself across his nose +and eyes. He ceased running forward and began to leap high in the +air and backwards. The net containing the big lobster fell to the +floor. Then John Brown fled to the open air, leaned against the +side of the building and screamed with laughter. + +Inside the kitchen the uproar was terrific. Howls, shrill yelps, +thumps and crashes. Then came a crash louder than any preceding it, +a splash of water across the sill, and from the doorway leaped, or +flew, an object steaming and dripping, fluttering with fly paper, +and with a giant lobster clamped firmly to its tail. The lobster +was knocked off against the door post, but the rest of the exhibit +kept on around the corner of the house, shrieking as it flew. Brown +collapsed in the sand and laughed until his sides ached and he was +too weak to laugh longer. + +At last he got up and staggered after it. He was still laughing +when he reached the back yard, but there he stopped laughing and +uttered an exclamation of impatience and some alarm. + +Of Job there was no sign, though from somewhere amid the dunes +sounded yelps, screams and the breaking of twigs as the persecuted +one fled blindly through the bayberry and beachplum bushes. But +Brown was not anxious about the dog. What caused him to shout and +then break into a run was the sight of Joshua, the old horse, +galloping at top speed along the road to the south. Even his sedate +and ancient calm had not been proof against the apparition which +burst from the kitchen. In his fright he had broken his halter rope +and managed--a miracle, considering his age--to leap the pasture +fence and run. + +That horse was the apple of Seth Atkins's eye. The lightkeeper +believed him to be a wonder of strength and endurance, and never +left the lights without cautioning his helper to keep an eye on +Joshua, "'cause if anything happened to him I'd have to hunt a +mighty long spell to find another that could tech him." Brown +accepted this trust with composure, feeling morally certain that the +only thing likely to happen to Joshua was death from overeating or +old age. And now something had happened--Joshua was running away. + +There was but one course to take; Brown must leave the government's +property in its own care and capture that horse. He had laughed +until running seemed an impossibility, but run he must, and did, +after a fashion. But Joshua was running, too, and he was +frightened. He galloped like a colt, and the assistant lightkeeper +gained upon him very slowly. + +The road was crooked and hilly, and the sand in its ruts was deep. +Brown would not have gained at all, but for the fact that the horse, +from long habit, kept to the roadway and never tried short cuts. +His pursuer did, and, therefore, just as Joshua entered the grove on +the bluff above Pounddug Slough, Brown caught up with him and made a +grab at the end of the trailing halter. He missed it, and the horse +took a fresh start. + +The road through the grove was overgrown with young trees and +bushes, and amid these the animal had a distinct advantage. Not +until the outer edge of the grove was reached did the panting +assistant get another opportunity at the rope. This time he seized +it and held on. + +"Whoa!" he shouted. "Whoa!" + +But Joshua did not "whoa" at once. He kept on along the edge of the +high, sandy slope. Brown, from the tail of his eye, caught a +glimpse of the winding channel of the Slough beneath him, of a small +schooner heeled over on the mud flat at its margin, and of the +figure of a man at work beside it. + +"Whoa!" he ordered once more. "Whoa, Josh! stand still!" + +Perhaps the horse would have stood still--he seemed about to do so-- +but from the distance, somewhere on the road he had just traversed, +came a howl, long-drawn and terrifyingly familiar. Joshua heard it, +jumped sidewise, jerked at the halter and, as if playing "snap the +whip," sent his would-be captor heels over head over the edge of the +bank and rolling down the sandy slope. The halter flew from Brown's +hands, he rolled and bumped and clutched at clumps of grass and +bushes. Then he struck the beach and stopped, spread-eagled on the +wet sand. + +A voice said: "Well--by--TIME!" + +Brown looked up. Seth Atkins, a paint pail in one hand and a +dripping brush in the other, was standing beside him, blank +astonishment written on his features. + +"Well--by time!" said Seth again, and with even stronger emphasis. + +The substitute assistant raised himself to his knees, rubbed his +back with one hand, and then, turning, sat in the sand and returned +his superior's astonished gaze with one of equal bewilderment. + +"Hello!" he gasped. "Well, by George! it's you, isn't it! What are +you doing here?" + +The lightkeeper put down the pail of paint. + +"What am I doin'?" he repeated. "What am I doin'--? Say!" His +astonishment changed to suspicion and wrath. "Never you mind what +I'm doin'," he went on. "That's my affairs. What are YOU doin' +here? That's what I want to know." + +Brown rubbed the sand out of his hair. + +"I don't know exactly what I am doing--yet," he panted. + +"You don't, hey? Well, you'd better find out. Maybe I can help you +to remember. Sneakin' after me, wa'n't you? Spyin', to find out +what I was up to, hey?" + +He shook the wet paint brush angrily at his helper. Brown looked at +him for an instant; then he rose to his feet. + +"Spyin' on me, was you?" repeated Seth. + +"Didn't I tell you that mindin' your own business was part of our +dicker if you was goin' to stay at Eastboro lighthouse? Didn't I +tell you that?" + +The young man answered with a contemptuous shrug. Turning on his +heel, he started to walk away. Atkins sprang after him. + +"Answer me," he ordered. "Didn't I say you'd got to mind your own +business?" + +"You did," coldly. + +"You bet I did! And was you mindin' it?" + +"No. I was minding yours--like a fool. Now you may mind it +yourself." + +"Hold on there! Where you goin'?" + +"Back to the lights. And you may go to the devil, or anywhere else +that suits your convenience, and take your confounded menagerie with +you." + +"My menag-- What on earth? Say, hold on! Mercy on us, what's +that?" + +From the top of the bluff came a crashing and a series of yelps. +Through the thicket of beachplum bushes was thrust a yellow head, +fringed with torn fragments of fly paper. + +"What's that?" demanded the astonished lightkeeper. + +Brown looked at the whining apparition in the bushes and smiled +maliciously. + +"That," he observed, "is Job." + +"JOB?" + +"Yes." From somewhere in the grove came a thrashing of branches and +a frightened neigh. "And that," he continued, "is Joshua, I +presume. If there are more Old Testament patriarchs in the +vicinity, I don't know where they are, and I don't care. You may +hunt for them yourself. I'm going to follow your advice and mind my +own business. Good by." + +He strode off up the beach. Job, at the top of the bank, started to +follow, but a well-aimed pebble caused him to dodge back. + +"Hold on!" roared the lightkeeper. "Maybe I made a mistake. +Perhaps you wa'n't spyin' on me. Don't go off mad. I . . . Wait!" + +But John Brown did not wait. He strode rapidly away up the beach. +Seth stared after him. From the grove, where his halter had caught +firmly in the fork of a young pine, Joshua thrashed and neighed. + +"Aa-oo-ow!" howled Job, from the bushes. + + +An hour later Atkins, leading the weary and homesick Joshua by the +bridle, trudged in at the lighthouse yard. Job, still ornamented +with remnants of the fly paper, slunk at his heels. Seth stabled +the horse and, after some manoeuvering, managed to decoy the dog +down the slope to the boathouse, where he closed the door upon him +and his whines. Then he climbed back to the kitchen. + +The table was set for one, and in the wash boiler on the range the +giant lobster was cooking. Of the substitute assistant keeper there +was no sign, but, after searching, Seth found him in his room. + +"Well?" observed Atkins, gruffly, "we might 's well have supper, +hadn't we?" + +Brown did not seem interested. "Your supper is ready, I think," he +answered. "I tried not to forget anything." + +"I guess 'tis; seems to be. Come on, and we'll eat." + +"I have eaten, thank you." + +"You have? Alone?" + +"Yes. That, too," with emphasis, "is a part of my business." + +The lightkeeper stared, grunted, and then went out of the room. He +ate a lonely meal, not of the lobster--he kept that for another +occasion--but one made up of cold scraps from the pantry. He +wandered uneasily about the premises, quieted Job's wails for the +time by a gift of eatable odds and ends tossed into the boathouse, +smoked, tried to read, and, when it grew dusk, lit the lamps in the +towers. At last he walked to the closed door of his helper's room +and rapped. + +"Well?" was the ungracious response. + +"It's me, Atkins," he announced, hesitatingly. "I'd like to speak +to you, if you don't mind." + +"On business?" + +"Well, no--not exactly. Say, Brown, I guess likely I'd ought to beg +your pardon again. I cal'late I've made another mistake. I jedge +you wa'n't spyin' on me when you dove down that bankin'." + +"Your judgment is good this time. I was not." + +"No, I'm sartin you wa'n't. I apologize and take it all back. Now +can I come in?" + +The door was thrown open. Seth entered, looking sheepish, and sat +down in the little cane-seated rocker. + +"Say," he began, after a moment of uncomfortable silence, "would you +mind--now that I've begged your pardon and all--tellin' me what did +happen while I was away. I imagine, judgin' by the looks of things +in the kitchen, that there was--er--well, consider'ble doin', as the +boys say." + +He grinned. Brown tried to be serious, but was obliged to smile in +return. + +"I'll tell you," he said. "Of course you know where that--er-- +remarkable dog came from?" + +"I can guess," drily. "Henry G.'s present, ain't he? Humph! Well, +I'd ought to have known that anything Henry would GIVE away was +likely to be remarkable in all sorts of ways. All right! that's one +Henry's got on me. Tomorrow afternoon me and Job take a trip back +to Eastboro, and one of us stays there. It may be me, but I have my +doubts. I agreed to take a DOG on trial, not a yeller-jaundiced cow +with a church organ inside of it. Hear the critter whoopin' down +there in the boathouse! And he's eat everything that's chewable on +the reservation already. He's a famine on legs, that pup. But +never mind him. He's been tried--and found guilty. Tell me what +happened." + +Brown began the tale of the afternoon's performances, beginning with +his experience as a lobster catcher. Seth smiled, then chuckled, +and finally burst into roars of laughter, in which the narrator +joined. + +"Jiminy crimps!" exclaimed Seth, when the story was finished. "Oh, +by jiminy crimps! that beats the Dutch, and everybody's been told +what the Dutch beat. Ha, ha! ho, ho! Brown, I apologize all over +again. I don't wonder you was put out when I accused you of spyin'. +Wonder you hadn't riz up off that sand and butchered me where I +stood. Cal'late that's what I'd have done in your place. Well, I +hope there's no hard feelin's now." + +"No. Your apology, is accepted." + +"That's good. Er--er--say, you--you must have been sort of +surprised to see me paintin' the Daisy M." + +"The which?" + +"The Daisy M. That's the name of that old schooner I was to work +on." + +"Indeed. . . . How is the weather tonight, clear?" + +"Yes, it's fair now, but looks sort of thick to the east'ard. I say +you must have been surprised to see me paintin' the Daisy M. I've +been tinkerin' on that old boat, off and on, ever since last fall. +Bought her for eight dollars of the feller that owned her, and she +was a hulk for sartin then. I've caulked her up and rigged her, +after a fashion. Now she might float, if she had a chance. Every +afternoon, pretty nigh, I've been at her. Don't know exactly why I +do it, neither. And yet I do, too. Prob'ly you've wondered where I +was takin" all that old canvas and stuff. I--" + +"Excuse me, Atkins. I mind my own business, you know. I ask no +questions, and you are under no obligation to tell me anything." + +"I know, I know." The lightkeeper nodded solemnly. He clasped his +knee with his hands and rocked back and forth in his chair. "I +know," he went on, an absent, wistful look in his eye; "but you must +have wondered, just the same. I bought that craft because--well, +because she reminded me of old times, I cal'late. I used to command +a schooner like her once; bigger and lots more able, of course, but +a fishin' schooner, same as she used to be. And I was a good +skipper, if I do say it. My crews jumped when I said the word, now +I tell you. That's where I belong--on the deck of a vessel. I'm a +man there--a man." + +He paused. Brown made no comment. Seth continued to rock and to +talk; he seemed to be thinking aloud. + +"Yes, sir," he declared, with a sigh; "when I was afloat I was a +man, and folks respected me. I just do love salt water and sailin' +craft. That's why I bought the Daisy M. I've been riggin' her and +caulkin' her just for the fun of doin' it. She'll never float +again. It would take a tide like a flood to get her off them flats. +But when I'm aboard or putterin' around her, I'm happy--happier, I +mean. It makes me forget I'm a good-for-nothin' derelict, stranded +in an old woman's job of lightkeepin'. Ah, hum-a-day, young feller, +you don't know what it is to have been somebody, and then, because +you was a fool and did a fool thing, to be nothin'--nothin'! You +don't know what that is." + +John Brown caught his breath. His fist descended upon the window +ledge beside him. + +"Don't I!" he groaned. "By George, don't I! Do you suppose--" + +He stopped short. Atkins started and came out of his dream. + +"Why--why, yes," he said, hastily; "I s'pose likely you do. . . . +Well, good night. I've got to go on watch. See you in the +mornin'." + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE PICNIC + + +Seth was true to his promise concerning Job. The next afternoon +that remarkable canine was decoyed, by the usual bone, into the box +in which he had arrived. Being in, the cover was securely renailed +above him. Brown and the light-keeper lifted the box into the back +part of the "open wagon," and Atkins drove triumphantly away, the +pup's agonized protests against the journey serving as spurs to urge +Joshua faster along the road to the village. When, about six +o'clock, Seth reentered the yard, he was grinning broadly. + +"Well," inquired Brown, "did he take him back willingly?" + +"Who? Henry G.? I don't know about the willin' part, but he'll +take him back. I attended to that." + +"What did he say? Did he think you ungrateful for refusing to +accept his present?" + +Atkins laughed aloud. "He didn't say nothin'," he declared. "He +didn't know it when I left Eastboro. I wa'n't such a fool as to +cart that critter to the store, where all the gang 'round the store +could holler and make fun. Not much! I drove way round the other +way, up the back road, and unloaded him at Henry's house. I +cal'lated to leave him with Aunt Olive--that's Henry's sister, +keepin' house for him--but she'd gone out to sewin' circle, and +there wa'n't nobody to home. The side door was unlocked, so I +lugged that box into the settin' room and left it there. Pretty +nigh broke my back; and that everlastin' Job hollered so I thought +the whole town would hear him and come runnin' to stop the murderin' +that they'd cal'late was bein' done. But there ain't no nigh +neighbors, and those that are nighest ain't on speakin' terms with +Henry; ruther have him murdered than not, I shouldn't wonder. So I +left Job in his box in the settin' room and cleared out." + +The substitute assistant smiled delightedly. + +"Good enough!" he exclaimed. "What a pleasant surprise for friend +Henry or his housekeeper." + +"Ho, ho! ain't it! I rather guess 'twill be Henry himself that's +surprised fust. Aunt Olive never leaves sewin' circle till the last +bit of supper's eat up--she's got some of her brother's stinginess +in her make-up--so I cal'late Henry'll get home afore she does. I +shouldn't wonder," with an exuberant chuckle, "if that settin' room' +was some stirred up when he sees it. The pup had loosened the box +cover afore I left. Ho, ho!" + +"But won't he send the dog back here again?" + +"No, he won't. I left a note for him on the table. There was +consider'ble ginger in every line of it. No, Job won't be sent +here, no matter what becomes of him. And if anything SHOULD be +broke in that settin' room--well, there was SOME damage done to our +kitchen. No, I guess Henry G. and me are square. He won't make any +fuss; he wants to keep our trade, you see." + +It was a true prophecy. The storekeeper made no trouble, and Job +remained at Eastboro until a foray on a neighbor's chickens resulted +in his removal from this vale of tears. Neither the lightkeeper nor +his helper ever saw him again, and when Seth next visited the store +and solicitously inquired concerning the pup's health, Henry G. +merely looked foolish and changed the subject. + +But the dog's short sojourn at the Twin-Lights had served to solve +one mystery, that of Atkins's daily excursions to Pounddug Slough. +He went there to work on the old schooner, the Daisy M. Seth made +no more disclosures concerning his past life--that remained a +secret--but he did suggest his helper's going to inspect the +schooner. "Just walk across and look her over," he said. "I'd like +to know what you think of her. See if I ain't makin' a pretty good +job out of nothin'. FOR nothin', of course," he added, gloomily; +"but it keeps me from thinkin' too much. Go and see her, that's a +good feller." + +So the young man did go. He climbed aboard the stranded craft--a +forlorn picture she made, lying on her side in the mud--and was +surprised to find how much had been manufactured "out of nothing." +Her seams, those which the sun had opened, were caulked neatly; her +deck was clean and white; she was partially rigged, with new and old +canvas and ropes; and to his landsman's eyes she looked almost fit +for sea. But when he said as much to Seth, the latter laughed +scornfully. + +"Fit for nothin'," scoffed the lightkeeper. "I could make her fit, +maybe, if I wanted to spend money enough, but I don't. I can't get +at her starboard side, that's down in the mud, and I cal'late she'd +leak like a skimmer. She's only got a fores'l and a jib, and the +jib's only a little one that used to belong to a thirty-foot sloop. +Her anchor's gone, and I wouldn't trust her main topmast to carry +anything bigger'n a handkerchief, nor that in a breeze no more +powerful than a canary bird's breath. And, as I told you, it would +take a tide like a flood to float her. No, she's no good, and never +will be; but," with a sigh, "I get a little fun fussin' over her." + +"Er--by the way," he added, a little later, "of course you won't +mention to nobody what I told you about--about my bein' a fishin' +skipper once. Not that anybody ever comes here for you to mention +it to, but I wouldn't want . . . You see, nobody in Eastboro or +anywheres on the Cape knows where I come from, and so . . . Oh, +all right, all right. I know you ain't the kind to talk. Mind our +own business, that's the motto you and me cruise under, hey?" + +Yet, although the conversation in the substitute assistant's room +was not again referred to by either, it had the effect of making the +oddly assorted pair a bit closer in their companionship. The mutual +trust was strengthened by the lightkeeper's half confidence and +Brown's sympathetic reception of it. Each was lonely, each had +moments when he felt he must express his hidden feelings to some +one, and, though neither recognized the fact, it was certain that +the time was coming when all mysteries would be mysteries no longer. +And one day occurred a series of ridiculous happenings which, +bidding fair at first to end in a quarrel the relationship between +the two, instead revealed in both a kindred trait that removed the +last barrier. + +At a little before ten on this particular morning, Brown, busy in +the kitchen, heard vigorous language outside. It was Atkins who was +speaking, and the assistant wondered who on earth he could be +talking to. A glance around the doorpost showed that he was, +apparently, talking to himself--at least, there was no other human +being to be seen. He held in his hand a battered pair of marine +glasses and occasionally he peered through them. Each time he did +so his soliloquy became more animated and profane. + +"What's the matter?" demanded Brown, emerging from the house. + +"Matter?" repeated Seth. "Matter enough! Here! take a squint +through them glasses and tell me who's in that buggy comin' yonder?" + +The buggy, a black dot far down the sandy road leading from the +village, was rocking and dipping over the dunes. The assistant took +the glasses, adjusted them, and looked as directed. + +"Why!" he said slowly, "there are three people in that buggy. A +man--and--" + +"And two women; that's what I thought. Dum idiots comin' over to +picnic and spend the day, sure's taxes. And they'll want to be +showed round the lights and everywheres, and they'll ask more'n +forty million questions. Consarn the luck!" + +Brown looked troubled. He had no desire to meet strangers. + +"How do you know they're coming here?" he asked. The answer was +conclusive. + +"Because," snarled Seth, "as I should think you'd know by this time, +there ain't no other place round here they COULD come to." + +A moment later, he added, "Well, you'll have to show 'em round." + +"I will?" + +"Sartin. That's part of the assistant keeper's job." + +He chuckled as he said it. That chuckle grated on the young man's +nerves. + +"I'm not the assistant," he declared cheerfully. + +"You ain't? What are you then?" + +"Oh, just a helper. I don't get any wages. You've told me +yourself, over and over, that I have no regular standing here. And, +according to the government rules, those you've got posted in the +kitchen, the lightkeeper is obliged to show visitors about. I +wouldn't break the rules for the world. Good morning. Think I'll +go down to the beach." + +He stalked away whistling. Atkins, his face flaming, roared after +him a profane opinion concerning his actions. Then he went into the +kitchen, slamming the door with a bang. + +Some twenty minutes later the helper heard his name shouted from the +top of the bluff. + +"Mr. Brown! I say! Ahoy there, Mr. Brown! Come up here a minute, +won't ye?" + +Brown clambered up the path. A little man, with grey throat +whiskers, and wearing an antiquated straw hat, the edge of the brim +trimmed with black braid, was standing waiting for him. + +"Sorry to trouble you, Mr. Brown," stammered the little man, "but +you be Mr. Brown, ain't you?" + +"I am. Yes." + +"Well, I cal'lated you was. My name's Stover, Abijah Stover. I +live over to Trumet. Me and my wife drove over for a sort of picnic +like. We've got her cousin, Mrs. Sophia Hains, along. Sophi's a +widow from Boston, and she ain't never seen a lighthouse afore. I +know Seth Atkins slightly, and I was cal'latin' he'd show us around, +but bein' as he's so sick--" + +"Sick? Is Mr. Atkins sick?" + +"Why, yes. Didn't you know it? He's in the bedroom there groanin' +somethin' terrible. He told me not to say nothin' to the women +folks, but to hail you, and you'd look out for us. Didn't you know +he was laid up? Why, he--" + +Brown did not wait to hear more. He strode to the house, with Mr. +Stover at his heels. On his way he caught a glimpse of the buggy, +the horse dozing between the shafts. On the seat of the buggy were +two women, one plump and round-faced, the other thin and gaunt. + +Mr. Stover panted behind him. + +"Say, Mr. Brown," he whispered, as they entered the kitchen; "don't +tell my wife nor Sophi about Seth's bein' sick. Better not say a +word to them about it." + +The tone in which this was spoken made the substitute assistant +curious. + +"Why not?" he asked. + +"'Cause--well, 'cause Hannah's hobby is sick folks, as you might +say. If there's a cat in the neighborhood that's ailin' she's +always dosin' of it up and fixin' medicine for it, and the like of +that. And Sophi's one of them 'New Thoughters' and don't believe +anybody's got any right to be sick. The two of 'em ain't done +nothin' but argue and row over diseases and imagination and +medicines ever since Sophi got here. If they knew Seth was laid up, +I honestly believe they'd drop picnic and everythin' and start +fightin' over whether he was really sick or just thought he was. +And I sort of figgered on havin' a quiet day off." + +Brown found the lightkeeper stretched on the bed in his room. He +was dressed, with the exception of coat and boots, and when the +young man entered he groaned feebly. + +"What's the matter?" demanded the alarmed helper. + +"Oh, my!" groaned Seth. "Oh, my!" + +"Are you in pain? What is it? Shall I 'phone for the doctor?" + +"No, no. No use gettin' the doctor. I'll be all right by and by. +It's one of my attacks. I have 'em every once in a while. Just let +me alone, and let me lay here without bein' disturbed; then I'll get +better, I guess." + +"But it's so sudden!" + +"I know. They always come on that way. Now run along, like a good +feller, and leave me to my suff'rin's. O-oh, dear!" + +Much troubled, Brown turned to the door. As he was going out he +happened to look back. The dresser stood against the wall beyond +the bed, and in its mirror he caught a glimpse of the face of the +sick man. On that face, which should have been distorted with +agony, was a broad grin. + +Brown found the little Stover man waiting for him in the kitchen. + +"Be you ready?" he asked. + +"Ready?" repeated Brown, absently. "Ready for what?" + +"Why, to show us round the lights. Sophi, she ain't never seen one +afore. Atkins said that, bein' as he wasn't able to leave his bed, +you'd show us around." + +"He did, hey?" + +"Yes. He said you'd be glad to." + +"Hum!" Mr. Brown's tone was that of one upon whom, out of darkness, +a light has suddenly burst. "I see," he mused, thoughtfully. "Yes, +yes. I see." + +For a minute he stood still, evidently pondering. Then, with a +twinkle in his eye, he strode out of the house and walked briskly +across to the buggy. + +"Good morning, ladies," he said, removing the new cap which Seth had +recently purchased for him in Eastboro. "Mr. Stover tells me you +wish to be shown the lights." + +The plump woman answered. "Yes," she said, briskly, "we do. Are +you a new keeper? Where's Mr. Atkins?" + +"Mr. Atkins, I regret to say," began Brown, "is ill. He--" + +Stover, standing at his elbow, interrupted nervously. + +"Mr. Brown here'll show us around," he said quickly. "Seth said he +would." + +"I shall be happy," concurred that young gentleman. "You must +excuse me if I seem rather worried. Mr. Atkins, my chief--I believe +you know him, Mrs. Stover--has been taken suddenly ill, and is, +apparently, suffering much pain. The attack was very sudden, and I--" + +"Sick?" The plump woman seemed actually to prick up her ears, like +a sleepy cat at the sound of the dinner bell. "Is Seth sick? And +you all alone with him here? Can't I do anything to help?" + +"All he wants is to be left alone," put in her husband anxiously. +"He said so himself." + +"Do you know what's the matter? Have you got any medicine for him?" +Mrs. Stover was already climbing out of the buggy. + +"No," replied Brown. "I haven't. That is, I haven't given him any +yet." + +The slim woman, Mrs. Hains of Boston, now broke into the conversation. + +"Good thing!" she snapped. "Most medicine's nothing but opium and +alcohol. Fill the poor creature full of drugs and--" + +"I s'pose you'd set and preach New Thought at him!" snapped Mrs. +Stover. "As if a body could be cured by hot air! I believe I'll go +right in and see him. Don't you s'pose I could help, Mr. Brown?" + +Mr. Brown seemed pleased, but reluctant. "It's awfully good of +you," he said. "I couldn't think of troubling you when you've come +so far on a pleasure excursion. But I am at my wit s end." + +"Don't say another word!" Mrs. Stover's bulky figure was already on +the way to the door of the house. "I'm only too glad to do what I +can. And, if I do say it, that shouldn't, I'm always real handy in +a sick room. 'Bijah, be quiet; I don't care if we ARE on a picnic; +no human bein' shall suffer while I set around and do nothin'." + +Mrs. Hains was at her cousin's heels. + +"You'll worry him to death," she declared. "You'll tell him how +sick he is, and that he's goin' to die, and such stuff. What he +needs is cheerful conversation and mental uplift. It's too bad! +Well, you sha'n't have your own way with him, anyhow. Mr. Brown, +where is he?" + +"You two goin' to march right into his BEDROOM?" screamed the irate +Abijah. The women answered not. They were already in the kitchen. +Brown hastened after them. + +"It's all right, ladies," he said. "Right this way, please." + +He led the way to the chamber of the sick man. Mr. Atkins turned on +his bed of pain, caught a glimpse of the visitors, and sat up. + +"What in time?" he roared. + +"Seth," said Brown, benignly, "this is Mrs. Stover of Eastboro. I +think you know her. And Mrs. Hains of Boston. These ladies have +heard of your sickness, and, having had experience in such cases, +have kindly offered to stay with you and help in any way they can. +Mrs. Stover, I will leave him in your hands. Please call me if I +can be of any assistance." + +Without waiting for further comment from the patient, whose face was +a picture, he hastened to the kitchen, choking as he went. Mr. +Stover met him at the outer door. + +"Now you've done it!" wailed the little man. "NOW you've done it! +Didn't I tell you? Oh, this'll be a hell of a picnic!" + +He stalked away, righteous indignation overcoming him. Brown sat +down in a rocking chair and shook with emotion. From the direction +of the sick room came the sounds of three voices, each trying to +outscream the other. The substitute assistant listened to this for +a while, and, as he did so, a new thought struck him. He remembered +a story he had read in a magazine years before. He crossed to the +pantry, found an empty bottle, rinsed it at the sink, stepped again +to the pantry, and, entering it, closed the door behind him. There +he busied himself with the molasses jug, the soft-soap bucket, the +oil can, the pepper shaker, and a few other utensils and their +contents. Footsteps in the kitchen caused him to hurriedly reenter +that apartment. Mrs. Stover was standing by the range, her face red. + +"Oh, there you are, Mr. Brown!" she exclaimed. "I wondered where +you'd gone to." + +"How is he?" inquired Brown, the keenest anxiety in his utterance. + +"H'm! he'd do well enough if he had the right treatment. I cal'late +he's better now, even as 'tis; but, when a person has to lay and +hear over and over again that what ails 'em is nothin' but +imagination, it ain't to be wondered at that they get mad. What he +needs is some sort of soothin' medicine, and I only wish 'twan't so +fur over to home. I've got just what he needs there." + +"I was thinking--" began Brown. + +"What was you thinkin'?" + +"I was wondering if some of my 'Stomach Balm' wouldn't help him. +It's an old family receipt, handed down from the Indians, I believe. +I always have a bottle with me and . . . Still, I wouldn't +prescribe, not knowing the disease." + +Mrs. Stover's eyes sparkled. Patent medicines were her hobby. + +"Hum!" she said. "'Stomach Balm' sounds good. And he says his +trouble is principally stomach. Some of them Indian medicines are +mighty powerful. Have you--did you say you had a bottle with you, +Mr. Brown?" + +The young man went again to the pantry and returned with the bottle +he had so recently found there. Now, however, it was two thirds +full of a black sticky mixture. Mrs. Stover removed the cork and +took an investigating sniff. + +"It smells powerful," she said, hopefully. + +"It is. Would you like to taste it?" handing her a tablespoon. He +watched as she swallowed a spoonful. + +"Ugh! oh!" she gasped; even her long suffering palate rebelled at +THAT taste. "It--I should think that OUGHT to help him." + +"I should think so. It may be the very thing he needs. At any +rate, it can't hurt him. It's quite harmless." + +Mrs. Stover's face was still twisted, under the influence of the +"Balm"; but her mind was made up. + +"I'm goin' to try it," she declared. "I don't care if every New +Thoughter in creation says no. He needs medicine and needs it right +away." + +"The dose," said Mr. Brown, gravely, "is two tablespoonfuls every +fifteen minutes. I do hope it will help him. Give him my sympathy-- +my deepest sympathy, Mrs. Stover, please." + +The plump lady disappeared in the direction of the sick room. The +substitute assistant lingered and listened. He heard a shrill pow- +wow of feminine voices. Evidently "New Thought" and the practice of +medicine had once more clashed. The argument waxed and waned. +Followed the click of a spoon against glass. And then came a gasp, +a gurgle, a choking yell; and high upon the salty air enveloping +Eastboro Twin-Lights rose the voice of Mr. Seth Atkins, expressing +his opinion of the "Stomach Balm" and those who administered it. + +John Brown darted out of the kitchen, dodged around the corner of +the house, tiptoed past the bench by the bluff, where Mr. Stover sat +gloomily meditating, and ran lightly down the path to the creek and +the wharf. The boathouse at the end of the wharf offered a +convenient refuge. Into the building he darted, closed the door +behind him, and collapsed upon a heap of fish nets. + +At three-thirty that afternoon, Mr. Atkins, apparently quite +recovered, was sitting in the kitchen rocker, reading a last week's +newspaper, one of a number procured on his most recent trip to the +village. The Stovers and their guest had departed. Their buggy was +out of sight beyond the dunes. A slight noise startled the +lightkeeper, and he looked up. His helper was standing in the +doorway, upon his face an expression of intense and delighted +surprise. + +"What?" exclaimed Mr. Brown. "What? Is it really you?" + +Seth put down the paper and nodded. + +"Um-hm," he observed drily, "it's really me." + +"Up? and WELL?" queried Brown. + +"Um-hm. Pretty well, considerin', thank you. Been for a stroll up +Washin'ton Street, have you? Or a little walk on the Common, maybe?" + +The elaborate sarcasm of these questions was intended to be +withering. Mr. Brown, however, did not wither. Neither did he +blush. + +"I have been," he said, "down at the boathouse. I knew you were in +safe hands and well looked after, so I went away. I couldn't remain +here and hear you suffer." + +"Hum! HEAR me suffer, hey? Much obliged, I'm sure. What have you +been doin' there all this time? I hoped you was--that is, I begun +to be afraid you was dead. Thought your sympathy for me had been +too much for you, maybe." + +Brown mournfully shook his head. "It was--almost," he said, +solemnly. "I think I dropped asleep. I was quite overcome." + +"Hum! Better take a dose of that 'Stomach Balm,' hadn't you? +That'll liven you up, I'll guarantee." + +"No, thank you. The sight of you, well and strong again, is all the +medicine I need. We must keep the 'Balm' in case you have another +attack. By the way, I notice the dinner dishes haven't been washed. +I'll do them at once. I know you must be tired, after your illness-- +and the exertion of showing your guests about the lights." + +Atkins did not answer, although he seemed to want to very much. +However, he made no objection when his helper, rolling up his +sleeves, turned to the sink and the dish washing. + +Seth was silent all the rest of the afternoon and during supper. +But that evening, as Brown sat on the bench outside, Atkins joined +him. + +"Hello!" said Seth, as cheerfully as if nothing had happened. + +"Hello!" replied the assistant, shortly. He had been thinking once +more, and his thoughts were not pleasant. + +"I s'pose you cal'late," began Atkins, "that maybe I've got a grudge +against you on account of this mornin' and that 'Balm' and such. I +ain't." + +"That's good. I'm glad to hear it." + +"Yes. After the fust dose of that stuff--for thunder sakes WHAT did +you put in it?--I was about ready to murder you, but I've got over +that. I don't blame you for gettin' even. We are even, you know." + +"I'm satisfied, if you are." + +"I be. But what I don't understand is why you didn't want to show +them folks around." + +"Oh, I don't know. I had my reasons, such as they were. Why didn't +you want to do it yourself?" + +Seth crossed his legs and was silent for a moment or two. Then he +spoke firmly and as if his mind was made up. + +"Young feller," he said, "I don't know whether you realize it or +not, and perhaps I shouldn't be the one to mention it--but you're +under some obligations to me." + +His companion nodded. "I realize that," he said. + +"Yes, but maybe you don't realize the amount of the obligations. +I'm riskin' my job keepin' you here. If it wa'n't for the +superintendent bein' such a friend of mine, there'd have been a +reg'lar assistant keeper app'inted long ago. The gov'ment don't +pick up its lightkeepers same as you would farm hands. There's +civil service to be gone through, and the like of that. But you +wanted to stay, and I've kept you, riskin' my own job, as I said. +And now I cal'late we'd better have a plain understandin'. You've +got to know just what your job is. I'm goin' to tell you." + +He stopped, as if to let this sink in. Brown nodded again. "All +right," he observed, carelessly; "go on and tell me; I'm listening." + +"Your job around the lights you know already, part of it. But +there's somethin' else. Whenever men folks come here, I'll do my +share of showin' the place off. But when women come--women, you +understand--you've got to be guide. I'll forgive you to-day's +doin's. I tried to play a joke on you, and you evened it up with a +better one on me. That's all right. But, after this, showin' the +lights to females is your job, and you've got to do it--or get out. +No hard feelin's at all, and I'd really hate to lose you, but THAT'S +got to be as I say." + +He rose, evidently considering the affair settled. Brown caught his +coat and pulled him back to the bench. + +"Wait, Atkins," he said. "I'm grateful to you for your kindness, I +like you and I'd like to please you; but if what you say is final, +then--as they used to say in some play or other--'I guess you'll +have to hire another boy.'" + +"What? You mean you'll quit?" + +"Rather than do that--yes." + +"But why?" + +"For reasons, as I told you. By the way, you haven't told me why +you object to acting as guide to--females." + +"Because they are females. They're women, darn 'em!" + +Before his helper could comment on this declaration, it was +repeated. The lightkeeper shook both his big fists in the air. + +"Darn 'em! Darn all the women!" shouted Seth Atkins. + +"Amen," said John Brown, devoutly. + +Seth's fists dropped into his lap. "What?" he cried; "what did you +say?" + +"I said Amen." + +"But--but . . . why . . . you didn't mean it!" + +"Didn't I?" bitterly. "Humph!" + +Seth breathed heavily, started to speak once more, closed his lips +on the words, rose, walked away a few paces, returned, and sat down. + +"John Brown," he said, solemnly, "if you're jokin', the powers +forgive you, for I won't. If you ain't, I--I . . . See here, do +you remember what you asked me that night when you struck me for the +assistant keeper's job? You asked me if I was married?" + +Brown assented wonderingly. "Why, yes," he said, "I believe I did." + +"You did. And I ain't been so shook up for many a day. Young +feller, I'm goin' to tell you what no other man in Ostable County +knows. I AM married. I've got a wife livin'." + + +CHAPTER VII + +OUT OF THE BAG + + +"I'm married, and I've got a wife livin'," continued Seth; adding +hurriedly and fiercely, "don't you say nothin' to me! Don't you put +me out. I'm goin' to tell you! I'm goin' to tell you all of it-- +all, by time! I am, if I die for it." + +He was speaking so rapidly that the words were jumbled together. He +knocked his hat from his forehead with a blow of his fist and +actually panted for breath. Brown had never before seen him in this +condition. + +"Hold on! Wait," he cried. "Atkins, you needn't do this; you +mustn't. I am asking no questions. We agreed to--" + +"Hush up!" Seth waved both hands in the air. "DON'T you talk! Let +me get this off my chest. Good heavens alive, I've been smotherin' +myself with it for years, and, now I've got started, I'll blow off +steam or my b'iler'll bust. I'm GOIN' to tell you. You listen-- + +"Yes, sir, I'm a married man," he went on. "I wa'n't always +married, you understand. I used to be single once. Once I was +single; see?" + +"I see," said Brown, repressing a smile. + +Seth was not aware that there was anything humorous in his statement. + +"Yes," he said, "I was single and--and happy, by jiminy! I was +skipper of a mack'rel schooner down Cape Ann way, never mind where, +and Seth Atkins is only part of my name; never mind that, neither. +I sailed that schooner and I run that schooner--I RUN her; and when +I said 'boo' all hands aboard jumped, I tell you. When I've got +salt water underneath me, I'm a man. But I told you that afore. + +"However, this is what I didn't tell you nor nobody else in this +part of the state: I stayed single till I got to be past forty. +Everybody set me down as an old bach. Then I met a woman; yes, sir, +I met a woman." + +He made this assertion as if it was something remarkable. His +companion on the bench made no comment. + +"She was a widow woman," went on Seth, "and she had a little +property left her by her first husband. Owned a house and land, she +did, and had some money in the bank. Some folks cal'lated I married +her for that, but they cal'lated wrong. I wanted her for herself. +And I got her. Her name was Emeline. I always thought Emeline was +a sort of pretty name." + +He sighed. Brown observed that Emeline was a very pretty name, +indeed. + +"Um-hm. That's what I thought, and Emeline was a real pretty woman, +for her age and heft--she was fleshy. She had some consider'ble +prejudice against my goin' to sea, so I agreed to stay on shore a +spell and farm it, as you might say. We lived in the house she +owned and was real happy together. She bossed me around a good +deal, but I didn't mind bein' bossed by her. 'Twas a change, you +see, for I'd always been used to bossin' other folks. So I humored +her. And, bein' on land made me lose my--my grip or somethin'; +'cause I seemed to forget how to boss. But we was happy, and then-- +then Bennie D. come. Consarn him!" + +His teeth shut with a snap, and he struck his knee with his fist. +"Consarn him! " he repeated, and was silent. + +The substitute assistant ventured to jog his memory. + +"Who was Bennie D.?" he asked. + +"What? Hey? Bennie D.? Oh, he was her brother-in-law, her +husband's brother from up Boston way. He was a genius--at least, he +said he was--and an inventor. The only invention I ever could l'arn +he'd invented to a finish was how to live without workin', but he'd +got that brought to a science. However, he was forever fussin' over +some kind of machine that was sartin sure to give power to the +universe, when 'twas done, and Emeline's husband--his name was +Abner--thought the world and all of him. 'Fore he died he made +Emeline promise to always be kind to Bennie D., and she said she +would. Abner left him a little money, and he spent it travelin' +'for his health.' I don't know where he traveled to, but, wherever +'twas, the health must have been there. He was the healthiest +critter ever I see--and the laziest. + +"Well, his travels bein' over, down he comes to make his sister-in- +law a little visit. And he stays on and stays on. He never took no +shine to me--I judge he figgered I hadn't no business sharin' +Abner's property--and I never took to him, much. + +"Emeline noticed Bennie D. and me wa'n't fallin' on each other's +necks any to speak of, and it troubled her. She blamed me for it. +Said Bennie was a genius, and geniuses had sensitive natures and had +to be treated with consideration and different from other folks. +And that promise to Abner weighed on her conscience, I cal'late. +Anyhow, she petted that blame inventor, and it made me mad. And yet +I didn't say much--not so much as I'd ought to, I guess. And Bennie +D. was always heavin' out little side remarks about Emeline's bein' +fitted for better things than she was gettin', and how, when his +invention was 'perfected,' HE'D see that she didn't slave herself to +death, and so on and so on. And he had consider'ble to say about +folks tryin' to farm when they didn't know a cucumber from a +watermelon, and how 'farmin'' was a good excuse for doin' nothin', +and such. And I didn't have any good answer to that, 'cause I do +know more about seaweed than I do cucumbers, and the farm wasn't +payin' and I knew it. + +"If he'd said these things right out plain, I guess likely I'd have +give him what he deserved. But he didn't; he just hinted and smiled +and acted superior and pityin'. And if I got mad and hove out a +little sailor talk by accident, he'd look as sorry and shocked as +the Come-Outer parson does when there's a baby born to a +Universalist family. He'd get up and shut the door, as if he was +scart the neighbors' morals would suffer--though the only neighbor +within hearin' was an old critter that used to run a billiard saloon +in Gloucester, and HIS morals had been put out of their misery forty +years afore--and he'd suggest that Emeline better leave the room, +maybe. And then I'd feel ashamed and wouldn't know what to do, and +'twould end, more'n likely, by my leavin' it myself. + +"You can see how matters was driftin'. I could see plain enough, +and I cal'late Emeline could, too--I'll give her credit for that. +She didn't begin to look as happy as she had, and that made me feel +worse than ever. One time, I found her cryin' in the wash room, and +I went up and put my arm round her. + +"'Emeline,' I says, 'don't; please don't. Don't cry. I know I +ain't the husband I'd ought to be to you, but I'm doin' my best. +I'm tryin' to do it. I ain't a genius,' I says. + +"She interrupted me quick, sort of half laughin' and half cryin'. +'No, Seth,' says she, 'you ain't, that's a fact.' + +"That made me sort of mad. 'No, I ain't,' I says again; 'and if you +ask me, I'd say one in the house was enough, and to spare.' + +"'I know you don't like Bennie,' she says. + +"''Taint that,' says I, which was a lie. 'It ain't that,' I says; +'but somehow I don't seem to fit around here. Bennie and me, we +don't seem to belong together.' + +"'He is Abner's brother,' she says, 'and I promised Abner. I can't +tell him to go. I can't tell him to leave this house, his brother's +house.' + +"Now, consarn it, there was another thing. It WAS Abner's house, or +had been afore he died, and now 'twas hers. If I ever forgot that +fact, which wa'n't by no means likely to happen, Bennie D. took +occasions enough to remind me of it. So I was set back again with +my canvas flappin', as you might say. + +"'No,' says I, 'course you can't. He's your brother-in-law.' + +"'But you are my husband,' she says, lookin' at me kind of queer. +Anyhow, it seems kind of queer to me now. I've thought about that +look a good deal since, and sometimes I've wondered if--if . . . +However, that's all past and by. + +"'Yes,' I says, pretty average bitter, 'but second husbands don't +count for much.' + +"'Some of 'em don't seem to, that's a fact,' she says. + +"'By jiminy,' I says, 'I don't count for much in this house.' + +"'Yes?' says she. 'And whose fault is that?' + +"Well, I WAS mad. 'I tell you what I CAN do,' I sings out. 'I can +quit this landlubber's job where I'm nothin' but a swab, and go to +sea again, where I'm some account. That's what I can do.' + +"She turned and looked at me. + +"'You promised me never to go to sea again, she says. + +"'Humph!' says I; 'some promises are hard to keep.' + +"'I keep mine, hard or not,' says she. 'Would you go away and leave +me?' + +"'You've got Brother Bennie,' says I. 'He's a genius; I ain't +nothin' but a man.' + +"She laughed, pretty scornful. 'Are you sartin you're that?' she +wanted to know. + +"'Not since I been livin' here, I ain't,' I says. And that ended +that try of makin' up. + +"And from then on it got worse and worse. There wan't much comfort +at home where the inventor was, so I took to stayin' out nights. +Went down to the store and hung around, listenin' to fools' gabble, +and wishin' I was dead. And the more I stayed out, the more Bennie +D. laughed and sneered and hinted. And then come that ridic'lous +business about Sarah Ann Christy. That ended it for good and all." + +Seth paused in his long story and looked out across the starlit sea. + +"Who was Sarah Ann?" asked Brown. The lightkeeper seemed much +embarrassed. + +"She was a born fool," he declared, with emphasis; "born that way +and been developin' extry foolishness ever since. She was a widow, +too; been good lookin' once and couldn't forget it, and she lived +down nigh the store. When I'd be goin' down or comin' back, just as +likely as not she was settin' on the piazza, and she'd hail me. I +didn't want to stop and talk to her, of course." + +"No, of course not." + +"Well, I DIDN'T. And I didn't HAVE to talk. Couldn't if I wanted +to; she done it all. Her tongue was hung on ball-bearin' hinges and +was a self-winder guaranteed to run an hour steady every time she +set it goin'. Talk! my jiminy crimps, how that woman could talk! I +couldn't get away; I tried to, but, my soul, she wouldn't let me. +And, if 'twas a warm night, she'd more'n likely have a pitcher of +lemonade or some sort of cold wash alongside, and I must stop and +taste it. By time, I can taste it yet! + +"Well, there wa'n't no harm in her at all; she was just a fool that +had to talk to somebody, males preferred. But my stayin' out nights +wasn't helpin' the joyfulness of things to home, and one evenin'-- +one evenin' . . . Oh, there! I started to tell you this and I +might's well get it over. + +"This evenin' when I came home from the store I see somethin' was +extry wrong soon's I struck the settin' room. Emeline was there, +and Bennie D., and I give you my word, I felt like turnin' up my +coat collar, 'twas so frosty. 'Twas hotter'n a steamer's stoke-hole +outside, but that room was forty below zero. + +"Nobody SAID nothin', you know--that was the worst of it; but I'd +have been glad if they had. Finally, I said it myself. 'Well, +Emeline,' says I, 'here I be.' + +"No answer, so I tried again. 'Well, Emeline,' says I, 'I've +fetched port finally.' + +"She didn't answer me then, but Bennie D. laughed. He had a way of +laughin' that made other folks want to cry--or kill him. For choice +I'd have done the killin' first. + +"'More nautical conversation, sister,' says he. 'He knows how fond +you are of that sort of thing.' + +"You see, Emeline never did like to hear me talk sailor talk; it +reminded her too much that I used to be a sailor, I s'pose. And +that inventor knew she didn't like it, and so he rubbed it in every +time I made a slip. 'Twas just one of his little ways; he had a +million of 'em. + +"But I tried once more. 'Emeline,' I says, 'I'm home. Can't you +speak to me?' + +"Then she looked at me. 'Yes, Seth,' says she, 'I see you are +home.' + +"'At last,' put in brother-in-law, '"There is no place like home"-- +when the other places are shut up.' And he laughed again. + +"'Stop, Bennie,' says Emeline, and he stopped. That was another of +his little ways--to do anything she asked him. Then she turned to me. + +"'Seth,' she asks, 'where have you been?' + +"'Oh, down street,' says I, casual. 'It's turrible warm out.' + +"She never paid no attention to the weather signals. 'Where 'bouts +down street?' she wanted to know. + +"'Oh, down to the store,' I says. + +"'You go to the store a good deal, don't you,' says she. Bennie D. +chuckled, and then begged her pardon. That chuckle stirred my mad +up. + +"'I go where folks seem to be glad to see me,' I says. 'Where they +treat me as if I was somebody.' + +"'So you was at the store the whole evenin'?' she asks. + +"'Course I was,' says I. 'Where else would I be?' + +"She looked at me hard, and her face sort of set. She didn't +answer, but took up the sewin' in her lap and went to work on it. I +remember she dropped it once, and Bennie D. jumped to pick it up for +her, quick as a wink. I set down in the rockin' chair and took the +Gloucester paper. But I didn't really read. The clock ticked and +ticked, and 'twas so still you could hear every stroke of the +pendulum. Finally, I couldn't stand it no longer. + +"'What on earth is the matter?' I sings out. 'What have I done this +time? Don't you WANT me to go to the store? Is that it?' + +"She put down her sewin'. 'Seth,' says she, quiet but awful cold, +'I want you to go anywheres that you want to go. I never'll stand +in your way. But I want you tell the truth about it afterwards.' + +"'The truth?' says I. 'Don't I always tell you the truth?' + +"'No,' says she. 'You've lied to me tonight. You've been callin' +on the Christy woman, and you know it.' + +"Well, you could have knocked me down with a baby's rattle. I'd +forgot all about that fool Sarah Ann. I cal'late I turned nineteen +different shades of red, and for a minute I couldn't think of a word +to say. And Bennie D. smiled, wicked as the Old Harry himself. + +"'How--how did you--how do you know I see Sarah Ann Christy?' I +hollered out, soon's I could get my breath. + +"'Because you were seen there,' says she. + +"'Who see me?' + +"'I did,' says she. 'I went down street myself, on an errand, and, +bein' as you weren't here to go with me, Bennie was good enough to +go. It ain't pleasant for a woman to go out alone after dark, and-- +and I have never been used to it,' she says. + +"That kind of hurt me and pricked my conscience, as you may say. + +"'You know I'd been tickled to death to go with you, Emeline,' I +says. 'Any time, you know it. But you never asked me to go with +you.' + +"'How long has it been since you asked to go with me?' she says. + +"'Do you really want me to go anywheres, Emeline?' says I, eager. +'Do you? I s'posed you didn't. If you'd asked--' + +"'Why should I always do the askin'? Must a wife always ask her +husband? Doesn't the husband ever do anything on his own +responsibility? Seth, I married you because I thought you was a +strong, self-reliant man, who would advise me and protect me and--' + +"That cussed inventor bust into the talk right here. I cal'late he +thought twas time. + +"'Excuse me, sister,' he says; 'don't humiliate yourself afore him. +Remember you and me saw him tonight, saw him with our own eyes, +settin' on a dark piazza with another woman. Drinkin' with her and--' + +"'Drinkin'!' I yells. + +"'Yes, drinkin',' says he, solemn. 'I don't wonder you are ashamed +of it.' + +"'Ashamed! I ain't ashamed.' + +"'You hear that, sister? NOW I hope you're convinced.' + +"''Twa'n't nothin' but lemonade I was drinkin',' I hollers, pretty +nigh crazy. 'She asked me to stop and have a glass 'cause 'twas so +hot. And as for callin' on her, I wa'n't. I was just passin' by, +and she sings out what a dreadful night 'twas, and I said 'twas, +too, and she says won't I have somethin' cold to drink. That's all +there was to it.' + +"Afore Emeline could answer, Bennie comes back at me again. + +"'Perhaps you'll tell us this was the first time you have visited +her,' he purrs. + +"Well, that was a sockdolager, 'cause twa'n't the first time. I +don't know how many times 'twas. I never kept no account of 'em. +Too glad to get away from her everlastin' tongue-clackin'. But when +'twas put right up to me this way, I--I declare I was all fussed up. +I felt sick and I guess I looked so. Emeline was lookin' at me and +seemin'ly waitin' for me to say somethin'; yet I couldn't say it. +And Bennie D. laughed, quiet but wicked. + +"That laugh fixed me. I swung round and lit into him. + +"'You mind your own business,' I roars. 'Ain't you ashamed, makin' +trouble with a man's wife in his own house?' + +"'I was under the impression the house belonged to my sister-in- +law,' he says. And again I was knocked off my pins. + +"'You great big loafer!' I yelled at him; 'settin' here doin' +nothin' but raisin' the divil generally! I--I--' + +"He jumped as if I'd stuck a brad-awl into him. The shocked +expression came across his face again, and he runs to Emeline and +takes her arm. + +"'Sister, sister,' he says, quick, but gentle, 'this is no place for +you. Language like that is . . . there! there! don't you think +you'd better leave the room?' + +"She didn't go. As I remember it now, it keeps comin' back to me +that she didn't go. She just stood still and looked at me. And +then she says: 'Seth, why did you lie to me?' + +'I didn't lie,' I shouts. 'I forgot, I tell you. I never thought +that windmill of a Christy woman was enough importance to remember. +I didn't lie to you--I never did. Oh, Emeline, you know I didn't. +What's the matter with you and me, anyway? We used to be all right +and now we're all wrong.' + +"'One of us is,' says Bennie D. That was the final straw that +choked the camel. + +"'Yes,' I says to him, 'that's right, one of us is, and I don't know +which. But I know this: you and I can't stay together in this house +any longer.' + +"I can see that room now, as 'twas when I said that. Us three +lookin' at each other, and the clock a-tickin', and everything else +still as still. I choked, but I kept on. + +"'I mean it,' I says. 'Either you clear out of this house or I do.' + +"And, while the words was on my lips, again it came to me strong +that it wa'n't really my house at all. I turned to my wife. + +"'Emeline,' says I, 'it's got to be. You must tell him to go, or +else--' + +"She'd been lookin' at me again with that kind of queer look in her +eyes, almost a hopeful look, seem's if 'twas, and yet it couldn't +have been, of course. Now she drawed a long breath. + +"'I can't tell him to go, Seth,' says she. 'I promised to give him +a home as long as I had one.' + +"I set my jaws together. 'All right,' I says; 'then I'M goin'. +Good by.' + +"And I went. Yes, sir, I went. Just as I was, without any hat or +dunnage of any kind. When I slammed the back door it seemed as if I +heard her sing out my name. I waited, but I guess I was mistaken, +for she didn't call it again. And--and I never set eyes on her +since. No, sir, not once." + +The lightkeeper stopped. John Brown said nothing, but he laid a +hand sympathetically on the older man's shoulder. Seth shuddered, +straightened, and went on. + +"I cleared out of that town that very night," he said. "Walked +clear into Gloucester, put up at a tavern there till mornin', and +then took the cars to Boston. I cal'lated fust that I'd ship as +mate or somethin' on a foreign voyage, but I couldn't; somehow I +couldn't bring myself to do it. You see, I'd promised her I +wouldn't ever go to sea again, and so--well, I was a dum idiot, I +s'pose, but I wouldn't break the promise. I knew the superintendent +of lighthouses in this district, and I'd been an assistant keeper +when I was younger. I told him my yarn, and he told me about this +job. I changed my name, passed the examination and come directly +here. And here I've stayed ever since." + +He paused again. Brown ventured to ask another question. + +"And your--and the lady?" he asked. "Where is she?" + +"I don't know. Livin' in her house back there on Cape Ann, I +s'pose. She was, last I knew. I never ask no questions. I want to +forget--to forget, by time! . . . Hi hum! . . . Well, now you know +what nobody this side of Boston knows. And you can understand why +I'm willin' to be buried alive down here. 'Cause a woman wrecked my +life; I'm done with women; and to this forsaken hole no women +scarcely ever come. But, when they DO come, you must understand +that I expect you to show 'em round. After hearin' what I've been +through, I guess you'll be willin' to do that much for me." + +He rose, evidently considering the affair settled. Brown stroked +his chin. + +"I'm sorry, Atkins," he observed, slowly; "and I certainly do +sympathize with you. But--but, as I said, 'I guess you'll have to +hire another boy!'" + +"What? What do you mean?" + +"I mean that you're not the only woman-hater on the beach." + +"Hey? Has a woman given YOU the go by?" + +"No. The other way around, if anything. Look here, Atkins! I'm +not in the habit of discussing my private affairs with +acquaintances, but you've been frank with me--and well, hang it! +I've got to talk to somebody. At least, I feel that way just now. +Let's suppose a case. Suppose you were a young fellow not long out +of college--a young fellow whose mother was dead and whose dad was +rich, and head over heels in money-making, and with the idea that +his will was no more to be disputed than a law of the Almighty. +Just suppose that, will you?" + +"Huh! Well, 'twill be hard supposin', but I'll try. Heave ahead." + +"Suppose that you'd never been used to working or supporting +yourself. Had a position, a nominal one, in your dad's office but +absolutely no responsibility, all the money you wanted, and so on. +Suppose because your father wanted you to--and HER people felt the +same--you had become engaged to a girl, a nice enough girl, too, in +her way. But, then suppose that little by little you came to +realize that her way wasn't yours. You and she liked each other +well enough, but the whole thing was a family arrangement, a money +arrangement, a perfectly respectable, buy-and-sell affair. That and +nothing else. And the more you thought about it, the surer you felt +that it was so. But when you told your governor he got on his ear +and sailed into you, and you sailed back, until finally he swore +that you should either marry that girl or he'd throw you out of his +house and office to root for yourself. What would you do?" + +"Hey? Land sakes! I don't know. I always HAD to root, so I ain't +a competent judge. Go on, you've got me interested." + +"Well, I said I'd root, that's all. But I didn't have the nerve to +go and tell the girl. The engagement had been announced, and all +that, and I knew what a mess it would make for her. I sat in my +room, among the things I was packing in my grip to take with me, and +thought and thought. If I went to her there would be a scene. If I +said I had been disinherited she would want to know why--naturally. +I had quarreled with the governor--yes, but why? Then I should have +to tell her the real reason: I didn't want to marry her or anybody +else on such a bargain-counter basis. That seemed such a rotten +thing to say, and she might ask why it had taken me such a long time +to find it out. No, I just COULDN'T tell her that. So, after my +think was over, I wrote her a note saying that my father and I had +had a disagreement and he had chucked me out, or words to that +effect. Naturally, under the circumstances, marriage was out of the +question, and I released her from the engagement. Good by and good +luck--or something similar. I mailed the letter and left the town +the next morning." + +He paused. The lightkeeper made no comment. After a moment the +young man continued. + +"I landed in Boston," he said, "full of conceit and high-minded +ideas of working my own way up the ladder. But in order to work up, +you've got to get at least a hand-hold on the bottom rung. I +couldn't get it. Nobody wanted a genteel loafer, which was me. My +money gave out. I bought a steamboat passage to another city, but I +didn't have enough left to buy a square meal. Then, by bull luck, I +fell overboard and landed here. And here I found the solution. I'm +dead. If the governor gets soft-hearted and gets private detectives +on my trail, they'll find I disappeared from that steamer, that's +all. Drowned, of course. SHE'LL think so, too. 'Good riddance to +bad rubbish' is the general verdict. I can stay here a year or so, +and then, being dead and forgotten, can go back to civilization and +hustle for myself. BUT a woman is at the bottom of my trouble, and +I never want to see another. So, if my staying here depends upon my +seeing them, I guess, as I've said twice already, 'you'll have to +hire another boy.'" + +He, too, rose. Seth laid a big hand on his shoulder. + +"Son," said the lightkeeper, "I'm sorry for you; I cal'late I know +how you feel. I like you fust-rate, and if it's a possible thing, +I'll fix it so's you can stay right here long's you want to. As for +women folks that do come--why, we'll dodge 'em if we can, and share +responsibility if we must. But there's one thing you've GOT to +understand. You're young, and maybe your woman hate'll wear off. +If it does, out you go. I can't have any sparkin' or lovemakin' +around these premises." + +The assistant snorted contemptuously. + +"If ever you catch me being even coldly familiar with a female of +any age," he declared, "I hereby request that you hit me, politely, +but firmly, with that axe," pointing to the kindling hatchet leaning +against the door post. + +Seth chuckled. "Good stuff!" he exclaimed. "And, for my part, if +ever you catch me gettin' confectionery with a woman, I . . . well, +don't stop to pray over me; just drown me, that's all I ask. It's a +bargain. Shake!" + +So they shook, with great solemnity. + + +CHAPTER VIII + +NEIGHBORS AND WASPS + + +And now affairs at the lights settled down into a daily routine in +which the lightkeeper and his helper each played his appointed part. +All mysteries now being solved, and the trust between them mutual +and without reserve, they no longer were on their guard in each +other's presence, but talked freely on all sorts of topics, and +expressed their mutual dislike of woman with frequency and point. +No regular assistant was appointed or seemed likely to be, for the +summer, at least. Seth and his friend, the superintendent, held +another lengthy conversation over the wire, and, while Brown's +uncertain status remained the same, there was a tacit understanding +that, by the first of September, if the young man was sufficiently +"broken in," the position vacated by Ezra Payne should be his--if he +still wanted it. + +"You may change your mind by that time," observed Seth. "This ain't +no place for a chap with your trainin', and I know it. It does well +enough for an old derelict like me, with nobody to care a hang +whether he lives or dies, but you're different. And even for me the +lonesomeness of it drives me 'most crazy sometimes. I've noticed +you've been havin' blue streaks more often than when you first came. +I cal'late that by fall you'll be headin' somewheres else, Mr. 'John +Brown,'" with significant emphasis upon the name. + +Brown stoutly denied being "bluer" than usual, and his superior did +not press the point. Seth busied himself in his spare time with the +work on the Daisy M. and with his occasional trips behind Joshua to +the village. Brown might have made some of these trips, but he did +not care to. Solitude and seclusion he still desired, and there +were more of these than anything else at the Twin-Lights. + +The lightkeeper experimented with no more dogs, but he had evidently +not forgotten the lifesaving man's warning concerning possible +thieves, for he purchased a big spring-lock in Eastboro and attached +it to the door of the boathouse on the little wharf. The lock was, +at first, a good deal more of a nuisance than an advantage, for the +key was always being forgotten or mislaid, and, on one occasion, the +door blew shut with Atkins inside the building, and he pounded and +shrieked for ten minutes before his helper heard him and descended +to the rescue. + +June crawled by, and July came. Crawled is the proper word, for +John Brown had never known days so long or weeks so unending as +those of that early summer. The monotony was almost never broken, +and he began to find it deadly. He invented new duties about the +lights and added swimming and walks up and down the beach to his +limited list of recreations. + +The swimming he especially enjoyed. The cove made a fine bathing +place, and the boathouse was his dressing room, though the fragrance +of the ancient fish nets stored within it was not that of attar of +roses. A cheap bathing suit was one of the luxuries Atkins had +bought for him, by request, in Eastboro. Seth bought the suit under +protest, for he scoffed openly at his helper's daily bath. + +"I should think," the lightkeeper declared over and over again, +"that you'd had salt water soak enough to last you for one spell; a +feller that come as nigh drownin' as you done!" + +Seth did not care for swimming; the washtub every Saturday night +furnished him with baths sufficient. + +He was particular to warn his helper against the tide in the inlet: +"The cove's all right," he said, "but you want to look out and not +try to swim in the crick where it's narrow, or in that deep hole by +the end of the wharf, where the lobster car's moored. When the +tide's comin' in or it's dead high water, the current's strong +there. On the ebb it'll snake you out into the breakers sure as I'm +settin' here tellin' you. The cove's all right and good and safe; +but keep away from the narrer part of the crick." + +Swimming was good fun, and walking, on pleasant days, was an aid in +shaking off depression; but, in spite of his denials and his +attempts at appearing contented, the substitute assistant realized +that he was far from that happy condition. He did not want to meet +people, least of all people of his own station in life--his former +station. Atkins was a fine chap, in his way; but . . . Brown was +lonely . . . and when one is lonely, one thinks of what might have +been, and, perhaps, regrets. Regrets, unavailing regrets, are the +poorest companions possible. + +The lightkeeper, too, seemed lonely, which, considering his years of +experience in his present situation, was odd. He explained his +loneliness one evening by observing that he cal'lated he missed the +painting chaps. + +"What painting chaps?" asked Brown. + +"Oh, them two young fellers that always used to come to the cottage-- +what you call the bungalow--across the cove there, the ones I told +you about. They was real friendly, sociable young chaps, and I kind +of liked to have 'em runnin' in and out. Seems queer to have it +July, and they not here to hail me and come over to borrow stuff. +And they was forever settin' around under white sunshades, sloppin' +paint onto paper. I most wish they hadn't gone to Europe. I +cal'late you'd have liked 'em, too." + +"Perhaps," said the helper, doubtfully. + +"Oh, you would; no perhaps about it. It don't seem right to see the +bungalow all shuttered up and deserted this time of year. You'd +have liked to meet them young painters; they was your kind." + +"Yes, I know. Perhaps that's why I shouldn't like to meet them." + +"Hey? . . . Oh, yes, yes; I see. I never thought of that. But +'tain't likely they'd know you; they hailed from Boston, not New +York." + +"How did you know I came from New York? I didn't tell you that." + +"No, you didn't, that's a fact. But, you said you left the city +where you lived and came to Boston, so I sort of guessed New York. +But that's all right; I don't know and I don't care. Names and +places you and me might just as well not tell, even to each other. +If we don't tell them, we can answer 'don't know' to questions and +tell the truth; hey?" + +One morning about a week later, Brown, his dish washing and sweeping +done, was busy in the light-room at the top of the right hand tower, +polishing the brass of the lantern. The curtains were drawn on the +landward side, and those toward the sea open. Seth, having finished +his night watching and breakfast, was audibly asleep in the house. +Brown rubbed and polished leisurely, his thoughts far away, and a +frown on his face. For the thousandth time that week he decided +that he was a loafer and a vagabond, and that it would have been +much better for himself, and creation generally, if he had never +risen after the plunge over the steamer's rail. + +He pulled the cloth cover over the glittering lantern and descended +the iron stair to the ground floor. When he emerged into the open +air, he heard a sound which made him start and listen. The sound +was the distant rattle of wheels from the direction of the village. +Was another "picnic" coming? He walked briskly to the corner of the +house and peered down the winding road. A carriage was in sight +certainly, but it was going, not coming. He watched it move further +away each moment. Someone--not the grocer or a tradesman--was +driving to the village. But where had he been, and who was he? Not +Seth, for Seth was asleep--he could hear him. + +The driver of the carriage, whoever he was, had not visited the +lights. And, as Atkins had said, there was nowhere else to go on +that road. Brown, puzzled, looked about him, at the sea, the +lights, the house, the creek, the cove, the bluff on the other side +of the cove, the bungalow--ah! the bungalow! + +For the door of the bungalow was open, and one or two of the +shutters were down. The carriage had brought some person or persons +to the bungalow and left them there. Instantly, of course, Brown +thought of the artists from Boston. Probably they had changed their +minds and decided to summer at Eastboro after all. His frown +deepened. + +Then, from across the cove, from the bungalow, came a shrill scream, +a feminine scream. The assistant started, scarcely believing his +ears. Before he could gather his wits, a stout woman, with a +checked apron in her hand, rushed out of the bungalow door, looked +about, saw him, and waved the apron like a flag. + +"Hi!" she screamed. "Hi, you! Mr. Lighthouseman! come quick! do +please come here quick and help us!" + +There was but one thing to do, and Brown did it instinctively. He +raced through the beach grass, down the hill, in obedience to the +call. As he ran, he wondered who on earth the stout woman could be. +Seth had said that the artists did their own housekeeping. + +"Hurry up!" shrieked the stout woman, dancing an elephantine +fandango in front of the bungalow. "Come ON!" + +To run around the shore line of the cove would have taken a good +deal of time. However, had the tide been at flood there would have +been no other way--excepting by boat--to reach the cottage. But the +tide was out, and the narrowest portion of the creek, the stream +connecting the cove with the ocean, was but knee deep. Through the +water splashed the substitute assistant and clambered up the bank +beyond. + +"Quick!" screamed the woman. "They'll eat us alive!" + +"Who? What?" panted Brown. + +"Wasps! They're in there! The room's full of 'em. If there's one +thing on earth I'm scart of, it's . . . Don't stop to talk! Go IN!" + +She indicated the door of a room adjoining the living room of the +little cottage. From behind the door came sounds of upsetting +furniture and sharp slaps. Evidently the artists were having a +lively time. But they must be curious chaps to be afraid of wasps. +Brown opened the door and entered, partly of his own volition, +partly because he was pushed by the stout woman. Then he gasped in +astonishment. + +The wasps were there, dozens of them, and they had built a nest in +the upper corner of the room. But they were not the astonishing +part of the picture. A young woman was there, also; a young woman +with dark hair and eyes, the sleeves of a white shirtwaist rolled +above her elbows, and a wet towel in her right hand. She was +skipping lightly about the room, slapping frantically at the humming +insects. + +"Mrs. Bascom," she panted, "don't stand there screaming. Get +another towel and--" + +Then she turned and saw Brown. For an instant she, too, seemed +astonished. But only for an instant. + +"Oh, I'm so glad you came!" she exclaimed. "Here! take this! you +must hit quick and HARD." + +"This" was the towel. The assistant took it mechanically. The +young lady did not wait to give further orders. She rushed out of +the room and shut the door. Brown was alone with the wasps, and +they were lively company. When, at last, the battle was over, the +last wasp was dead, the nest was a crumpled gray heap over in the +corner, and the assistant's brow was ornamented with four red and +smarting punctures, which promised to shortly become picturesque and +painful lumps. Rubbing these absently with one hand, and bearing +the towel in the other, he opened the door and stepped out into the +adjoining room. + +The two women were awaiting him. He found them standing directly in +front of him as he emerged. + +"Have you--have you killed them?" begged the younger of the pair. + +"Be they all dead?" demanded the other. + +Brown nodded solemnly. "I guess so," he said. "They seem to be." + +"Oh, I'm so glad!" cried the dark haired girl. "I'm--we--are so +much obliged to you." + +"If there's any critters on earth," declared the stout woman, "that +I can't stand, it's wasps and hornets and such. Mice, I don't mind--" + +"I do," interrupted her companion with emphasis. + +"But when I walked into that room and seen that nest in the corner I +was pretty nigh knocked over--and," she added, "it takes consider'ble +to do that to ME." + +The assistant looked at her. "Yes," he said, absently, "I should +think it might. That is, I mean--I--I beg your pardon." + +He paused and wiped his forehead with the towel. The young lady +burst into a peal of laughter, in which the stout woman joined. The +laugh was so infectious that even Brown was obliged to smile. + +"I apologize," he stammered. "I didn't mean that exactly as it +sounded. I'm not responsible mentally--yet--I guess." + +"I don't wonder." It was the stout woman who answered. The girl +had turned away and was looking out the window; her shoulders shook. +"I shouldn't think you would be. Hauled in bodily, as you might +say, and shut up in a room to fight wasps! And by folks you never +saw afore and don't know from Adam! You needn't apologize. I'd +forgive you if you said somethin' a good deal worse'n that. I'm +long past the age where I'm sensitive about my weight, thank +goodness." + +"And we ARE so much obliged to you." The girl was facing him once +more, and she was serious, though the corners of her mouth still +twitched. "The whole affair is perfectly ridiculous," she said, +"but Mrs. Bascom was frightened and so was I--when I had time to +realize it. Thank you again." + +"You're quite welcome, I'm sure. No trouble at all." + +The assistant turned to go. His brain was beginning to regain a +little of its normal poise, and he was dimly conscious that he had +been absent from duty quite long enough. + +"Maybe you'd like to know who 'tis you've helped," observed the +stout woman. "And, considerin' that we're likely to be next-door +neighbors for a spell, I cal'late introductions are the proper +thing. My name's Bascom. I'm housekeeper for Miss Ruth Graham. +This is Miss Graham." + +The young lady offered a hand. Brown took it. + +"Graham?" he repeated. "Where?" Then, remembering a portion of +what Seth had told him, he added, "I see! the--the artist?" + +"My brother is an artist. He and his friend, Mr. Hamilton, own this +bungalow. They are abroad this summer, and I am going to camp here +for a few weeks--Mrs. Bascom and I. I paint a little, too, but only +for fun." + +Brown murmured a conventionality concerning his delight at meeting +the pair, and once more headed for the door. But Mrs. Bascom's +curiosity would not permit him to escape so easily. + +"I thought," she said, "when I see you standin' over there by the +lights, that you must be one of the keepers. Not the head keeper--I +knew you wa'n't him--but an assistant, maybe. But I guess you're +only a visitor, Mister--Mister--?" + +"Brown." + +"Yes, Mr. Brown. I guess you ain't no keeper, are you?" + +"I am the assistant keeper at present. Yes." + +"You don't say!" Mrs. Bascom looked surprised. So, too, did Miss +Graham. "You don't look like a lighthouse keeper," continued the +former. "Oh, I don't mean your clothes!" noticing the young man's +embarrassed glance at his wet and far from immaculate garments. "I +mean the way you talk and act. You ain't been here long, have you?" + +"No." + +"Just come this summer?" + +"Yes." + +"I thought so. You ain't a Cape Codder?" + +"No." + +"I was sure you wa'n't. Where DO you come from?" + +Brown hesitated. Miss Graham, noticing his hesitation, hastened to +end the inquisition. + +"Mr. Brown can't stop to answer questions, Mrs. Bascom," she said. +"I'm sure he wants to get back to his work. Good morning, Mr. +Brown. No doubt we shall see each other often, being the only +neighbors in sight. Call again--do. I solemnly promise that you +shall have to fight no more wasps." + +"Say!" The stout woman took a step forward. "Speakin' of wasps . . . +stand still a minute, Mr. Brown, won't you. What's them lumps on +your forehead? Why, I do believe you've been bit. You have, sure +and sartin!" + +Miss Graham was very much concerned. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed; "I +hope not. Let me see." + +"No, indeed!" The assistant was on the step by this time and moving +rapidly. "Nothing at all. No consequence. Good morning." + +He almost ran down the hill and crossed the creek at the wading +place. As he splashed through, the voice of the housekeeper reached +his ears. + +"Cold mud's the best thing," she screamed. "Put it on thick. It +takes out the smart. Good and thick, mind!" + +For the next hour or two the lightkeeper's helper moved about his +household tasks in a curious frame of mind. He was thoroughly +angry--or thought he was--and very much disturbed. Neighbors of any +kind were likely to be a confounded nuisance, but two women! +Heavens! And the stout woman was sure to be running in for calls +and to borrow things. As for the other, she seemed a nice girl +enough, but he never wanted to see another girl, nice or otherwise. +Her eyes were pretty, so was her hair, but what of it? Oh, hang the +luck! Just here he banged his swollen forehead on the sharp edge of +the door, and found relief in profanity. + +Seth Atkins was profane, also, when he heard the news. Brown said +nothing until his superior discovered with his own eyes that the +bungalow was open. Then, in answer to the lightkeeper's questions, +came the disclosure of the truth. + +"Women!" roared Seth. "You say there's two WOMEN goin' to live +there? By Judas! I don't believe it!" + +"Go and see for yourself, then," was the brusque answer. + +"I sha'n't, neither. Who told you?" + +"They did." + +"They DID? Was you there?" + +"Yes." + +"What for? I thought you swore never to go nigh a woman again." + +"I did, but--well, it wasn't my fault. I--" + +"Yes? Go on." + +"I went because I couldn't help myself. Went to help some one else, +in fact. I expected to find Graham and that other artist. But--" + +"Well, go ON." + +"I was stung," said Mr. Brown, gloomily, and rubbed his forehead. + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE BUNGALOW GIRL + + +During the following day the occupants of the lightkeeper's dwelling +saw little or nothing of the newcomers at the bungalow. Brown, his +forehead resembling a section of a relief map of the Rocky +Mountains, remained indoors as much as possible, working when there +was anything to do, and reading back-number magazines when there was +not. Seth went, as usual, to his room soon after noon. His +slumbers must, however, have been fitful ones, for several times the +substitute assistant, turning quickly, saw the bedroom door swing +silently shut. The third time that this happened he ran to the door +and threw it open in season to catch Mr. Atkins in an undignified +dive for the bed. A tremendous snore followed the dive. The young +man regarded him in silence for a few moments, during which the +snores continued. Then he shook his head. + +"Humph!" he soliloquized; "I must 'phone for the doctor at once. +Either the doctor or the superintendent. If he has developed that +habit, he isn't fit for this job." + +He turned away. The slumberer stirred uneasily, rolled over, opened +one eye, and sat up. + +"Hi!" he called. "Come back here! Where you goin'?" + +Brown returned, looking surprised and anxious. + +"Oh!" he exclaimed, "are you awake?" + +"Course I'm awake! What a fool question that is. Think I'm settin' +up here and talkin' in my sleep?" + +"Well, I didn't know." + +"Why didn't you know? And, see here! what did you mean by sayin' +you was goin' to 'phone the doctor or the superintendent, one or +t'other? Yes, you said it. I heard you." + +"Oh, no! you didn't." + +"Tell you I did. Heard you with my own ears." + +"But how could you? You weren't awake." + +"Course I was awake! Couldn't have heard you unless I was, could I? +What ails you? Them stings go clear through to your brains, did +they?" + +Again Brown shook his head. + +"This is dreadful!" he murmured. "He walks in his sleep, and snores +when he's awake. I MUST call the doctor." + +"What--what--" The lightkeeper's wrath was interfering with his +utterance. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sputtered +incoherently. + +"Be calm, Atkins," coaxed the assistant. "Don't complicate your +diseases by adding heart trouble. Three times today I've caught you +peeping at me through the crack of that door. Within fifteen +seconds of the last peep I find you snoring. Therefore, I say--" + +"Aw, belay! I was only--only just lookin' out to see what time it +was." + +"But you must have done it in your sleep, because--" + +"I never. I was wide awake as you be." + +"But why did you snore? You couldn't have fallen asleep between the +door and the bed. And you hadn't quite reached the bed when I got +here." + +"I--I--I--Aw, shut up!" + +Brown smiled blandly. "I will," he said, "provided you promise to +keep this door shut and don't do any more spying." + +"Spyin'? What do you mean by that?" + +"Just what I said. You and I had a discussion concerning that same +practice when I fell over the bank at the Slough a while ago. I was +not spying then, but you thought I was, and you didn't like it. Now +I think you are, and I don't like it." + +"Wh--what--what would I be spyin' on you for? Wh--what reason would +I have for doin' it?" + +"No good reason; because I have no intention of visiting our new +neighbors--none whatever. That being understood, perhaps you'll +shut the door and keep it shut." + +Seth looked sheepish and guilty. + +"Well," he said, after a moment's reflection, "I beg your pardon. +But I couldn't help feelin' kind of uneasy. I--I ought to know +better, I s'pose; but, with a young, good-lookin' girl landed +unexpected right next to us, I--I--" + +"How did you know she was good-looking? I didn't mention her +looks." + +"No, you didn't, but--but . . . John Brown, I've been young myself, +and I know that at your age most ANY girl's good-lookin'. There!" + +He delivered this bit of wisdom with emphasis and a savage nod of +the head. Brown had no answer ready, that is, no relevant answer. + +"You go to bed and shut the door," he repeated, turning to go. + +"All right, I will. But don't you forget our agreement." + +"I have no intention of forgetting it." + +"What ARE you goin' to do?" + +"Do? What do you mean?" + +"I mean what are you goin' to do now that things down here's +changed, and you and me ain't alone, same as we was?" + +"I don't know. I'm not sure that I sha'n't leave--clear out." + +"What? Clear out? Run away and leave me alone to--to . . . By +time! I didn't think you was a deserter." + +The substitute assistant laughed bitterly. "You needn't worry," he +said. "I couldn't go far, even if I wanted to. I haven't any +money." + +"That's so." Seth was evidently relieved. "All right," he +observed; "don't you worry. 'Twon't be but a couple of months +anyway, and we'll fight it through together. But ain't it a shame! +Ain't it an everlastin' shame that this had to happen just as we'd +come to understand each other and was so contented and friendly! +Well, there's only one thing to do; that's to make the best of it +for us and the worst for them. We'll keep to ourselves and pay no +attention to em no more'n if they wa'n't there. We'll forget 'em +altogether; hey? . . . I say we'll forget 'em altogether, won't we?" + +Brown's answer was short and sharp. + +"Yes," he said, and slammed the door behind him. Seth slowly shook +his head before he laid it on the pillow. He was not entirely easy +in his mind, even yet. + +However, there was no more spying, and the lightkeeper did not +mention the bungalow tenants when he appeared at supper time. After +the meal he bolted to the lights, and was on watch in the tower when +his helper retired. + +Early the next afternoon Brown descended the path to the boathouse. +He had omitted his swim the day before. Now, however, he intended +to have it. Simply because those female nuisances had seen fit to +intrude where they had no business was no reason why he should +resign all pleasure. He gave a quick glance upward at the opposite +bank as he reached the wharf. There was no sign of life about the +bungalow. + +He entered the boathouse, undressed, and donned his bathing suit. +In a few minutes he was ready, and, emerging upon the wharf, walked +briskly back along the shore of the creek to where it widened into +the cove. There he plunged in, and was soon luxuriating in the +cool, clear water. + +He swam with long, confident strokes, those of a practiced swimmer. +This was worth while. It was the one place where he could forget +that he was no longer the only son of a wealthy father, heir to a +respected name--which was NOT Brown--a young man with all sorts of +brilliant prospects; could forget that he was now a disinherited +vagabond, a loafer who had been unable to secure a respectable +position, an outcast. He swam and dove and splashed, rejoicing in +his strength and youth and the freedom of all outdoors. + +Then, as he lay lazily paddling in deep water, he heard the rattle +of gravel on the steep bank of the other side of the cove. Looking +up, he saw, to his huge disgust, a female figure in a trim bathing +suit descending the bluff from the bungalow. It was the girl who +had left him to fight the wasps. Her dark hair was covered with a +jauntily tied colored handkerchief, and, against the yellow sand of +the bluff, she made a very pretty picture. Not that Brown was +interested, but she did, nevertheless. + +She saw him and waved a hand. "Good morning," she called. +"Beautiful day for a swim, isn't it?" + +"Yes," growled the young man, brusquely. He turned and began to +swim in the opposite direction, up the cove. The girl looked after +him, raised a puzzled eyebrow, and then, with a shrug, waded into +the water. The next time the assistant looked at her, she was +swimming with long, sweeping strokes down the narrow creek to the +bend and the deep hole at the end of the wharf. Round that bend and +through that hole the tide whirled, like a rapid, out into the +miniature bay behind Black Man's Point. It was against that tide +that Seth Atkins had warned him. + +And the girl was swimming directly toward the dangerous narrows. +Brown growled an exclamation of disgust. He had no mind to continue +the acquaintance, and yet he couldn't permit her to do that. + +"Miss Graham!" he called. "Oh, Miss Graham!" + +She heard him, but did not stop. + +"Yes?" she called in answer, continuing to swim. "What is it?" + +"You mustn't--" shouted Brown. Then he remembered that he must not +shout. Shouting might awaken the lightkeeper, and the latter would +misunderstand the situation, of course. So he cut his warning to +one word. + +"Wait!" he called, and began swimming toward her. She did not come +to meet him, but merely ceased swimming and turned on her back to +float. And, floating, the tide would carry her on almost as rapidly +as if she assisted it. That tide did not need any assistance. +Brown swung on his side and settled into the racing stroke, the +stroke which had won him cups at the athletic club. + +He reached her in a time so short that she was surprised into an +admiring comment. + +"Oh!" she exclaimed, "you CAN swim!" + +He did not thank her for the compliment. There was no time for +that, even if he had felt like it. + +"You shouldn't be here," he said sharply. + +She looked at him. + +"Why, what do you mean?" she demanded. + +"It isn't safe. A little farther, and the tide would carry you out +to sea. Come back, back up to the cove at once." + +He expected her to ask more questions, but she did not. Instead she +turned and struck out in silence. Against the tide, even there, the +pull was tremendous. + +"Shall I help you?" he asked. + +"No, I can make it." + +And she did. It was his turn to be surprised into admiration. + +"By Jove!" he panted, as they swung into the quiet water of the cove +and stood erect in the shallows, "that was great! You are a good +swimmer." + +"Thank you," she answered, breathlessly. "It WAS a tug, wasn't it? +Thank you for warning me. Now tell me about the dangerous places, +please." + +He told her, repeating Seth's tales of the tide's strength. + +"But it is safe enough here?" she asked. + +"Oh, yes! perfectly safe anywhere this side of the narrow part--the +creek." + +"I'm so glad. This water is glorious, and I began to be afraid I +should have to give it up." + +"The creek, and even the bay itself are safe enough at flood," he +went on. "I often go there then. When the tide is coming in it is +all right even for--" + +He paused. She finished the sentence for him. "Even for a girl, +you were going to say." She waded forward to where the shoal ended +and the deeper part began. There she turned to look at him over her +shoulder. + +"I'm going to that beach over there," she said, pointing across the +cove. "Do you want to race?" + +Without waiting to see whether he did or not, she struck out for the +beach. And, without stopping to consider why he did it, the young +man followed her. + +The race was not so one-sided. Brown won it by some yards, but he +had to work hard. His competitor did not give up when she found +herself falling behind, but was game to the end. + +"Well," she gasped, "you beat me, didn't you? I never could get +that side stroke, and it's ever so much faster." + +"It's simple enough. Just a knack. I'll teach you if you like." + +"Will you? That's splendid." + +"You are the strongest swimmer, Miss Graham, for a girl, that I ever +saw. You must have practiced a great deal." + +"Yes, Horace--my brother--taught me. He is a splendid swimmer, one +of the very best." + +"Horace Graham? Why, you don't mean Horace Graham of the Harvard +Athletic?" + +"Yes, I do. He is my brother. But how . . . Do you know him?" + +The surprise in her tone was evident. Brown bit his lip. He +remembered that Cape Cod lightkeepers' helpers were not, as a usual +thing, supposed to be widely acquainted in college athletic circles. + +"I have met him," he stammered. + +"But where--" she began; and then, "why, of course! you met him +here. I forgot that he has been your neighbor for three summers." + +The assistant had forgotten it, too, but he was thankful for the +reminder. + +"Yes. Yes, certainly," he said. She regarded him with a puzzled +look. + +"It's odd he didn't mention you," she observed. "He has told me a +great deal about the bungalow, and the sea views, and the loneliness +and the quaintness of it all. That was what made me wish to spend a +month down here and experience it myself. And he has often spoken," +with an irrepressible smile, "of your--of the lightkeeper, Mr. +Atkins. That is his name, isn't it?" + +"Yes." + +"I want to meet him. Horace said he was--well, rather odd, but, +when you knew him, a fine fellow and full of dry humor. I'm sure I +should like him." + +Brown smiled, also--and broadly. He mentally pictured Seth's +reception of the news that he was "liked" by the young lady across +the cove. And then it occurred to him, with startling suddenness, +that he had been conversing very familiarly with that young lady, +notwithstanding the solemn interchange of vows between the +lightkeeper and himself. + +"I must be going," he said hastily; "good morning, Miss Graham." + +He waded to the shore and strode rapidly back toward the boathouse. +His companion called after him. + +"I shall expect you to-morrow afternoon," she said. "You've +promised to teach me that side stroke, remember." + +Brown dressed in a great hurry and climbed the path to the lights at +the double quick. All was safe and serene in the house, and he +breathed more freely. Atkins was sound asleep, really asleep, in +the bedroom, and when he emerged he was evidently quite unaware of +his helper's unpremeditated treason. Brown's conscience pricked +him, however, and he went to bed that night vowing over and over +that he would be more careful thereafter. He would take care not to +meet the Graham girl again. Having reached this decision, there +remained nothing but to put her out of his mind entirely; which he +succeeded in doing at a quarter after eleven, when he fell asleep. +Even then she was not entirely absent, for he dreamed a ridiculous +dream about her. + +Next day he did not go for a swim, but remained in the house. Seth, +at supper, demanded to know what ailed him. + +"You're as mum as the oldest inhabitant of a deaf and dumb asylum," +was the lightkeeper's comment. "And ugly as a bull in fly time. +What ails you?" + +"Nothing." + +"Humph! better take somethin' for it, seems to me. Little 'Stomach +Balm,' hey? No? Well, GO to bed! Your room's enough sight +better'n your company just now." + +The helper's ill nature was in evidence again at breakfast time. +Seth endeavored to joke him out of it, but, not succeeding, and +finding his best jokes received with groans instead of laughter, +gave it up in disgust and retired. The young man cleared the table, +piled the dishes in the sink, heated a kettleful of water and began +the day's drudgery, drudgery which he once thought was fun. + +Why had he had the ill luck to fall overboard from that steamer. Or +why didn't he drown when he did fall overboard? Then he would have +been comfortably dead, at all events. Why hadn't he stayed in New +York or Boston or somewhere and kept on trying for a position, for +work--any kind of work? He might have starved while trying, but +people who were starving were self-respecting, and when they met +other people--for instance, sisters of fellows they used to know-- +had nothing to be ashamed of and needn't lie--unless they wanted to. +He was a common loafer, under a false name, down on a sandheap +washing dishes. At this point he dropped one of the dishes--a +plate--and broke it. + +"D--n!" observed John Brown, under his breath, but with enthusiasm. + +He stooped to pick up the fragments of the plate, and, rising once +more to an erect position, found himself facing Miss Ruth Graham. +She was standing in the doorway. + +"Don't mind me, please," she said. "No doubt I should feel the same +way if it were my plate." + +The young man's first move, after recovery, was to make sure that +the door between the kitchen and the hall leading to the +lightkeeper's bedroom was shut. It was, fortunately. The young +lady watched him in silence, though her eyes were shining. + +"Good morning, Mr. Brown," she observed, gravely. + +The assistant murmured a good morning, from force of habit. + +"There's another piece you haven't picked up," continued the +visitor, pointing. + +Brown picked up the piece. + +"Is Mr. Atkins in?" inquired the girl. + +"Yes, he's--he's in." + +"May I see him, please?" + +"I--I--" + +"If he's busy, I can wait." She seated herself in a chair. "Don't +let me interrupt you," she continued. "You were busy, too, weren't +you?" + +"I was washing dishes," declared Brown, savagely. + +"Oh!" + +"Yes. Washing and sweeping and doing scrubwoman's work are my +regular employments." + +"Indeed! Then I'm just in time to help. Is this the dish towel?" +regarding it dubiously. + +"It is, but I don't need any help, thank you." + +"Of course you do. Everyone is glad to be helped at doing dishes. +I may as well make myself useful while I'm waiting for Mr. Atkins." + +She picked up a platter and proceeded to wipe it, quite as a matter +of course. Brown, swearing inwardly, turned fiercely to the suds. + +"Did you wish to see Atkins on particular business?" he asked, a +moment later. + +"Oh, no; I wanted to make his acquaintance, that's all. Horace told +me so many interesting things about him. By the way, was it last +summer, or the summer before, that you met my brother here?" + +No answer. Miss Graham repeated her question. "Was it last summer +or the summer before?" she asked. + +"Oh--er--I don't remember. Last summer, I think." + +"Why, you must remember. How could any one forget anything that +happened down here? So few things do happen, I should say. So you +met him last summer?" + +"Yes." + +"Hum! that's odd." + +"Shall I call Atkins? He's in his room." + +"I say it is odd, because, when Mrs. Bascom and I first met you, you +told us this was your first summer here." + +There wasn't any answer to this; at least the assistant could think +of none at the moment. + +"Do you wish me to call Atkins?" he asked, sharply. "He's asleep, +but I can wake him." + +"Oh! he's asleep. Now I understand why you whisper even when you +sw--that is, when you break a plate. You were afraid of waking +him. How considerate you are." + +Brown put down the dishcloth. "It isn't altogether consideration +for him--or for myself," he said grimly. "I didn't care to wake him +unless you took the responsibility." + +"Why?" + +"Because, Miss Graham, Seth Atkins took the position of lightkeeper +here almost for the sole reason that no women ever came here. Mr. +Atkins is a woman-hater of the most rabid type. I'll wake him up if +you wish, but I won't be responsible for the consequences." + +The young lady stared at him in surprise, delighted surprise +apparently, judging by the expression of her face. + +"A woman-hater?" she repeated. "Is he really?" + +"He is." Mr. Brown neglected to add that he also had declared +himself a member of the same fraternity. Perhaps he thought it was +not necessary. + +"A woman-hater!" Miss Graham fairly bubbled with mischievous joy. +"Oh, jolly! now I'm CRAZY to meet him!" + +The assistant moved toward the hall door. "Very good!" he observed +with grim determination. "I think he'll cure your lunacy." + +His hand was outstretched toward the latch, when the young lady +spoke again. + +"Wait a minute," she said. "Perhaps I had better not wake him now." + +"Just as you say. The pleasure is--or will be--entirely mine, I +assure you." + +"No--o. On the whole, I think I'll wait until later. I may call +again. Good morning." + +She moved across the threshold. Then, standing on the mica slab +which was the step to the kitchen door, she turned to say: + +"You didn't swim yesterday." + +"No--o. I--I was busy." + +"I see." + +She paused, as if expecting him to say something further on the +subject. He was silent. Her manner changed. + +"Good morning," she said, coldly, and walked off. The assistant +watched her as she descended the path to the cove, but she did not +once look back. Brown threw himself into a chair. He had never +hated anyone as thoroughly as he hated himself at the moment. + +"What a cheerful liar she must think I am," he reflected. "She +caught me in that fool yarn about meeting her brother here last +summer; and now, after deliberately promising to teach her that +stroke, I don't go near her. What a miserable liar she must think I +am! And I guess I am. By George, I can't be such a cad. I've got +to make good somehow. I must give her ONE lesson. I must." + +The tide served for bathing about three that afternoon. At ten +minutes before that hour the substitute assistant keeper of Eastboro +Twin-Lights tiptoed silently to the bedroom of his superior and +peeped in. Seth was snoring peacefully. Brown stealthily withdrew. +At three, precisely, he emerged from the boathouse on the wharf, +clad in his bathing suit. + +Fifteen minutes after three, Seth Atkins, in his stocking feet and +with suspicion in his eye, crept along the path to the edge of the +bluff. Crouching behind a convenient sand dune he raised his head +and peered over it. + +Below him was the cove, its pleasant waters a smooth, deep blue, +streaked and bordered with pale green. But the water itself did not +interest Seth. In that water was his helper, John Brown, of nowhere +in particular, John Brown, the hater of females, busily engaged in +teaching a young woman to swim. + +Atkins watched this animated picture for some minutes. Then, +carefully crawling back up to the path until he was well out of +possible sight from the cove, he rose to his feet, raised both +hands, and shook their clenched fists above his head. + +"The liar!" grated Mr. Atkins, between his teeth. "The traitor! +The young blackguard! After tellin' me that he . . . And after my +doin' everything for him that . . . Oh, by Judas, wait! only wait +till he comes back! I'LL l'arn him! I'LL show him! Oh, by jiminy +crimps!" + +He strode toward the doorway of the kitchen. There he stopped +short. A woman was seated in the kitchen rocker; a stout woman, +with her back toward him. The room, in contrast to the bright +sunshine without, was shadowy, and Seth, for an instant, could see +her but indistinctly. However, he knew who she must be--the +housekeeper at the bungalow--"Basket" or "Biscuit" his helper had +said was her name, as near as he could remember it. The lightkeeper +ground his teeth. Another female! Well, he would teach this one a +few things! + +He stepped across the threshold. + +"Ma'am," he began, sharply, "perhaps you'll tell me what you--" + +He stopped. The stout woman had, at the sound of his step, risen +from the chair, and turned to face him. And now she was staring at +him, her face almost as white as the stone-china cups and saucers on +the table. + +"Why . . . why . . . SETH!" she gasped. + +The lightkeeper staggered back until his shoulders struck the +doorpost. + +"Good Lord!" he cried; "good . . . LORD! Why--why--EMELINE!" + +For over a minute the pair stared at each other, white and +speechless. Then Mrs. Bascom hurried to the door, darted out, and +fled along the path around the cove to the bungalow. Atkins did not +follow her; he did not even look in the direction she had taken. +Instead, he collapsed in the rocking-chair and put both hands to his +head. + + +CHAPTER X + +THE BUNGALOW WOMAN + + +When, an hour later, the swimming teacher, his guilty conscience +pricking him, and the knowledge of having been false to his superior +strong within him, came sneaking into the kitchen, he was startled +and horrified to find the lightkeeper awake and dressed. Mentally +he braced himself for the battery of embarrassing questions which, +he felt sure, he should have to answer. It might be that he must +face something more serious than questions. Quite possible Seth, +finding him absent, had investigated--and seen. Well, if he had, +then he had, that was all. The murder would be out, and Eastboro +Twin-Lights would shortly be shy a substitute assistant keeper. + +But there were no embarrassing questions. Atkins scarcely noticed +him. Seated in the rocker, he looked up as the young man entered, +and immediately looked down again. He seemed to be in a sort of +waking dream and only dimly conscious of happenings about him. + +"Hello!" hailed the assistant, with an assumption of casual +cheerfulness. + +"Hey? Oh! how be you?" was Mr. Atkins's reply. + +"I've been for my dip," explained Brown. "The water was fine to-day." + +"Want to know!" + +"You're up early, aren't you?" + +"Hey? Yes, I guess likely I be." + +"What's wrong? Not sick, are you?" + +"No. Course I ain't sick. Say!" Seth seemed to take a sudden +interest in the conversation, "you come straight up from the cove, +have you?" + +"Yes. Why?" + +"You ain't been hangin' around outside here, have you?" + +"Hanging around outside? What do you mean?" + +"Nothin'. Why do you stand there starin' at me as if I was some +sort of dime show curiosity? Anything queer about me?" + +"No. I didn't know I was staring." The young man was bewildered by +this strange behavior. He was prepared for suspicion concerning his +own actions; but Seth seemed rather to be defending himself from +suspicion on the part of his helper. + +"Humph!" The lightkeeper looked keenly at him for a moment. Then +he said: + +"Well, ain't there nothin' to do but stand around? Gettin' pretty +nigh to supper time, ain't it? Put the kettle on and set the table." + +It was not supper time, but Brown obeyed orders. Seth went to +cooking. He spoke perhaps three words during the culinary +operations, and a half dozen more during the meal, of which he ate +scarcely a mouthful. After it was over, he put on his cap and went +out, not to his usual lounging spot, the bench, but to walk a full +half mile along the edge of the bluff and there sit in the seclusion +of a clump of bayberry bushes and gaze stonily at nothing in +particular. Here he remained until the deepening dusk reminded him +that it was time the lights were burning. Returning, he lit the +lanterns and sat down in the room at the top of the left-hand tower +to think, and think, and think. + +The shadows deepened; the last flush of twilight faded from the +western sky; the stars came out; night and the black silence of +night shrouded Eastboro Twin-Lights. The clock in the tower room +ticked on to nine and then to ten. Still Seth sat, a huddled, dazed +figure in the camp chair, by the great lantern. At last he rose and +went out on the iron balcony. He looked down at the buildings below +him; they were black shapes without a glimmer. Brown had evidently +gone to bed. In the little stable Joshua thumped the side of his +stall once or twice--dreaming, perhaps, that he was again pursued by +the fly-papered Job--and subsided. Atkins turned his gaze across +the inlet. In the rear window of the bungalow a dim light still +burned. As he watched, it was extinguished. He groaned aloud, and, +with his arms on the railing, thought and thought. + +Suddenly he heard sounds, faint, but perceptible, above the low +grumble of the surf. They were repeated, the sounds of breaking +sticks, as if some one was moving through the briers and bushes +beyond the stable. Some one was moving there, coming along the path +from the upper end of the cove. Around the corner of the stable a +bulky figure appeared. It came on until it stood beneath the +balcony. + +"Seth," called a low voice; "Seth, are you there?" + +For a moment the agitated lightkeeper could not trust his voice to +answer. + +"Seth," repeated the voice; "Seth." + +The figure was moving off in the direction of the other tower. Then +Seth answered. + +"Here--here I be," he stammered, in a hoarse whisper. "Who is it?" + +He knew who it was, perfectly well; the question was quite +superfluous. + +"It's me," said the voice. "Let me in, I've got to talk to you." + +Slowly, scarcely certain that this was not a part of some dreadful +nightmare, Seth descended the iron ladder to the foot of the tower, +dragged his faltering feet to the door, and slowly swung it open. +The bulky figure entered instantly. + +"Shut the door," said Mrs. Bascom. + +"Hey? What?" stammered Seth. + +"I say, shut that door. Hurry up! Land sakes, HURRY! Do you +suppose I want anybody to know I'm here?" + +The lightkeeper closed the door. The clang reverberated through the +tower like distant thunder. The visitor started nervously. + +"Mercy!" she exclaimed; "what a racket! What made you slam it?" + +"Didn't," grumbled Seth. "Any kind of a noise sounds up in here." + +"I should think as much. It's enough to wake the dead." + +"Ain't nobody BUT the dead to wake in this place." + +"Yes, there is; there's that young man of yours, that Brown one. He +ain't dead, is he?" + +"Humph! he's asleep, and that's next door to dead--with him." + +"Well, I'm glad of it. My nerves are pretty steady as a general +thing, but I declare I'm all of a twitter to-night--and no wonder. +It's darker than a pocket in here. Can't we have a light?" + +Atkins stumbled across the stone floor and took the lantern from the +hook by the stairs. He struck a match, and it went out; he tried +another, with the same result. Mrs. Bascom fidgeted. + +"Mercy on us!" she cried; "what DOES ail the thing?" + +Seth's trembling fingers could scarcely hold the third match. He +raked it across the whitewashed wall and broke the head short off. + +"Thunder to mighty!" he snarled, under his breath. + +"But what DOES--" + +"What does? What do you s'pose? You ain't the only one that's got +nerves, are you?" + +The next trial was successful, and the lantern was lighted. With it +in his hand, he turned and faced his caller. They looked at each +other. Mrs. Bascom drew a long breath. + +"It is you," she said. "I couldn't scarcely believe it. It is +really you." + +Seth's answer was almost a groan. "It's you," he said. "You--down +here." + +This ended the conversation for another minute. Then the lady +seemed to awake to the realities of the situation. + +"Yes," she said, "it's me--and it's you. We're here, both of us. +Though why on earth YOU should be, I don't know." + +"Me? Me? Why, I belong here. But you--what in time sent you here? +Unless," with returning suspicion, "you came because I--" + +He paused, warned by the expression on his caller's face. + +"What was that?" she demanded. + +"Nothin'." + +"Nothin', I guess. If you was flatterin' yourself with the idea +that I came here to chase after you, you never was more mistaken in +your life, or ever will be. You set down. You and I have got to +talk. Set right down." + +The lightkeeper hesitated. Then he obeyed orders by seating himself +on an oil barrel lying on its side near the wall. The lantern he +placed on the floor at his feet. Mrs. Bascom perched on one of the +lower steps of the iron stairs. + +"Now," she said, "we've got to talk. Seth Bascom--" + +Seth started violently. + +"What is it?" asked the lady. "Why did you jump like that? Nobody +comin', is there?" + +"No. No . . . But I couldn't help jumpin' when you called me that +name." + +"That name? It's your name, isn't it? Oh," she smiled slightly; "I +remember now. You've taken the name of Atkins since we saw each +other last." + +"I didn't take it; it belonged to me. You know my middle name. I +just dropped the Bascom, that's all." + +"I see. Just as you dropped--some other responsibilities. Why +didn't you drop the whole christenin' and start fresh? Why did you +hang on to 'Seth'?" + +The lightkeeper looked guilty. Mrs. Bascom's smile broadened. "I +know," she went on. "You didn't really like to drop it all. It was +too much of a thing to do on your hook, and there wasn't anybody to +tell you to do it, and so you couldn't quite be spunky enough to--" + +He interrupted her. "That wa'n't the reason," he said shortly. + +"What was the reason?" + +"You want to know, do you?" + +"Yes, I do." + +"Well, the 'Bascom' part wa'n't mine no more--not all mine. I'd +given it to you." + +"O--oh! oh, I see. And you ran away from your name as you ran away +from your wife. I see. And . . . why, of course! you came down +here to run away from all the women. Miss Ruth said this mornin' +she was told--I don't know who by--that the lightkeeper was a woman- +hater. Are you the woman-hater, Seth?" + +Mr. Atkins looked at the floor. "Yes, I be," he answered, sullenly. +"Do you wonder?" + +"I don't wonder at your runnin' away; that I should have expected. +But there," more briskly, "this ain't gettin' us anywhere. You're +here--and I'm here. Now what's your idea of the best thing to be +done, under the circumstances?" + +Seth shifted his feet. "One of us better go somewheres else, if you +ask me," he declared. + +"Run away again, you mean? Well, I sha'n't run away. I'm Miss +Ruth's housekeeper for the summer. I answered her advertisement in +the Boston paper and we agreed as to wages and so on. I like her +and she likes me. Course if I'd known my husband was in the +neighborhood, I shouldn't have come here; but I didn't know it. Now +I'm here and I'll stay my time out. What are you goin' to do?" + +"I'm goin' to send in my resignation as keeper of these lights. +That's what I'm goin' to do, and I'll do it to-morrow." + +"Run away again?" + +"Yes." + +"Why?" + +"Why? WHY? Emeline Bascom, do you ask me that?" + +"I do, yes. See here, Seth, we ain't children, nor sentimental +young folks. We're sensible, or we'd ought to be. Land knows we're +old enough. I shall stay here and you ought to. Nobody knows I was +your wife or that you was my husband, and nobody needs to know it. +We ain't even got the same names. We're strangers, far's folks +know, and we can stay strangers." + +"But--but to see each other every day and--" + +"Why not? We've seen each other often enough so that the sight +won't be so wonderful. And we'll keep our bein' married a secret. +I sha'n't boast of it, for one." + +"But--but to SEE each other--" + +"Well, we needn't see each other much. Why, we needn't see each +other any, unless I have to run over to borrer somethin', same as +neighbors have to every once in a while. I can guess what's +troublin' you; it's young Brown. You've told him you're a woman- +hater, haven't you?" + +"Yes, I have." + +"Humph! Is he one, too?" + +The lightkeeper's mouth was twisted with a violent emotion. He +remembered his view of that afternoon's swimming lesson. + +"He said he was," he snarled. "He pretends he is." + +Mrs. Bascom smiled. "I want to know," she said. "Umph! I +thought . . . However, it's no matter. Perhaps he is. Anyhow +he can pretend to be and you can pretend to believe him. That'll +be the easiest way, I guess. Of course," she added, "I ain't tellin' +you what to do with any idea that you'll do it because I say so. +The time for that is all past and gone. But it seems to me that, +for once in my life, I'd be man enough to stick it out. I wouldn't +run away again." + +Seth did not answer. He scowled and stared at the circle of lantern +light on the stone floor. Mrs. Bascom rose from her seat on the +stairs. + +"Well," she observed, "I must be gettin' back to the house if I want +to get any sleep to-night. I doubt if I get much, for a body don't +get over a shock, such as I've had, in a minute. But I'm goin' to +get over it and I'm goin' to stay right here and do my work; I'm +goin' to go through with what seems to be my duty, no matter how +hard it is. I've done it afore, and I'll do it again. I've +promised, and I keep my promises. Good night." + +She started toward the door. Her husband sprang from the oil +barrel. + +"Hold on," he cried; "you wait a minute. I've got somethin' to +say." + +She shook her head. "I can't wait," she said; "I've got to go." + +"No, you ain't, neither. You can stay a spell longer, if you want +to." + +"Perhaps, but I don't want to." + +"Why not? What are you afraid of?" + +"Afraid! I don't know as I'm afraid of anything--that is," with a +contemptuous sniff, "nothin' I see around here." + +"Then what are YOU runnin' away for?" + +This was putting the matter in a new light. Mrs. Bascom regarded +her husband with wrathful amazement, which slowly changed to an +amused smile. + +"Oh," she said, "if you think I'm runnin' away, why--" + +"I don't see what else 'tis. If I ain't scart to have you here, I +don't see why you should be scart to stay. Set down on them stairs +again; I want to talk to you." + +The lady hesitated an instant and then returned to her former seat. +Seth went back to his barrel. + +"Emeline," he said. "I'll stay here on my job." + +She looked surprised, but she nodded. + +"I'm glad to hear it," she said. "I'm glad you've got that much +spunk." + +"Yup; well, I have. I came down here to get clear of everybody, +women most of all. Now the one woman that--that--" + +"That you 'specially wanted to get clear of--" + +"No! No! that ain't the truth, and you know it. She set out to +get clear of me--and I let her have her way, same as I done in +everything else." + +"She didn't set out to get clear of you." + +"She did." + +"No, she didn't." + +"I say she did." + +Mrs. Bascom rose once more. Seth Bascom," she declared, "if all you +wanted me to stay here for is to be one of a pair of katydids, +hollerin' at each other, I'm goin'. I'm no bug; I'm a woman." + +"Emeline, you set down. You've hove out a whole lot of hints about +my not bein' a man because I run away from your house. Do you think +I'd have been more of a man if I'd stayed in it? Stayed there and +been a yaller dog to be kicked out of one corner and into another by +you and--and that brother-in-law of yours. That's all I was--a dog." + +"Humph! if a dog's the right breed--and big enough--it's his own +fault if he's kicked twice." + +"Not if he cares more for his master than he does for himself-- +'taint." + +"Why, yes, it is. He can make his master respect him by provin' he +ain't the kind of dog to kick. And maybe one of his masters--his +real master, for he hadn't ought to have but one--might be needin' +the right kind of watchdog around the house. Might be in trouble +her--himself, I mean; and be hopin' and prayin' for the dog to +protect her--him, I should say. And then the--" + +"Emeline, what are you talkin' about?" + +"Oh, nothin', nothin'. Seth, what's the use of us two settin' here +at twelve o'clock at night and quarrelin' over what's past and +settled? I sha'n't do it, for one. I don't want to quarrel with +you." + +Seth sighed. "And I don't want to quarrel with you, Emeline," he +agreed. "As you say, there's no sense in it. Dear! dear! this, +when you come to think of it, is the queerest thing altogether that +ever was in the world, I guess. Us two had all creation to roam +'round in, and we landed at Eastboro Twin-Lights. It seems almost +as if Providence done it, for some purpose or other." + +"Yes; or the other critter, for HIS purposes. How did you ever come +to be keeper of a light, Seth?" + +"Why--why--I don't know. I used to be in the service, 'fore I went +to sea much. You remember I told you I did. And I sort of drifted +down here. I didn't care much what became of me, and I wanted a +lonesome hole to hide in, and this filled the bill. I've been here +ever since I left--left--where I used to be. But, Emeline, how did +YOU come here? You answered an advertisement, you told me; but +why?" + +"'Cause I wanted to do somethin' to earn my livin'. I was alone, +and I rented my house and boarded. But boardin' ain't much comfort, +'specially when you board where everybody knows you, and knows your +story. So I--" + +"Wait a minute. You was alone, you say? Where was--was HE?" + +"He?" + +"Yes. You know who I mean." + +He would not speak the hated name. His wife spoke it for him. + +"Bennie?" she asked. "Oh, he ain't been with me for 'most two year +now. He--he went away. He's in New York now. And I was alone and +I saw Miss Graham's advertisement for a housekeeper and answered it. +I needed the money and--" + +"Hold on! You needed the money? Why, you had money." + +"Abner left me a little, but it didn't last forever. And--" + +"You had more'n a little. I wrote to bank folks there and turned +over my account to you. And I sent 'em a power of attorney turnin' +over some stocks--you know what they was--to you, too. I done that +soon's I got to Boston. Didn't they tell you?" + +"Yes, they told me." + +"Well, then, that ought to have helped along." + +"You don't s'pose I took it, do you?" + +"Why--why not?" + +"Why not! Do you s'pose I'd use the money that belonged to the +husband that run off and left me? I ain't that kind of a woman. +The money and stocks are at the bank yet, I s'pose; anyhow they're +there for all of me." + +The lightkeeper's mouth opened and stayed open for seconds before he +could use it as a talking machine. He could scarcely believe what +he had heard. + +"But--but I wanted you to have it," he gasped. "I left it for you." + +"Well, I didn't take it; 'tain't likely!" with fiery indignation. +"Did you think I could be bought off like a--a mean--oh, I don't +know what?" + +"But--but I left it at the bank--for you. What--what'll I do with +it?" + +"I don't know, I'm sure. You might give it to Sarah Ann Christy; I +wouldn't wonder if she was less particular than I be." + +Seth's guns were spiked, for the moment. He felt the blood rush to +face, and his fists, as he brandished them in the air, trembled. + +"I--I--you--you--" he stammered. "I--I--you think I--" + +He knew that his companion would regard his agitation as an evidence +of conscious guilt, and this knowledge did not help to calm him. He +strode up and down the floor. + +"Look out," said Mrs. Bascom, coldly, "you'll kick over the +lantern." + +Her husband stopped in his stride. "Darn the lantern!" he shouted. + +"S-sh-sh! you'll wake up the Brown man." + +This warning was more effective. But Seth was still furious. + +"Emeline Bascom," he snarled, shaking his forefinger in her face, +"you've said over and over that I wa'n't a man. You have, haven't +you?" + +She was looking at his shirt cuff, then but a few inches from her +nose. + +"Who sewed on that button?" she asked. + +This was so unexpected that his wrath was, for the instant, +displaced by astonishment. + +"What?" he asked. "What button?" + +"That one on your shirt sleeve. Who sewed it on?" + +"Why, I did, of course. What a crazy question that is!" + +She smiled. "I guessed you did," she said. "Nobody but a man would +sew a white button on a white shirt--or one that was white once-- +with black thread." + +He looked at the button and then at her. His anger returned. + +"You said I wa'n't a man, didn't you?" he demanded. + +"Yes, I did. But I'll have to take part of it back. You're half a +man anyhow; that sewin' proves it." + +"Huh! I want to know. Well, maybe I ain't a man; maybe I'm only +half a one. But I ain't a fool! I ain't a fool!" + +She sighed wearily. "Well, all right," she admitted. "I sha'n't +argue it." + +"You needn't. I ain't--or anyhow I ain't an EVERLASTIN' fool. And +nobody but the everlastin'est of all fools would chase Sarah Ann +Christy. I didn't. That whole business was just one of your--your +Bennie D.'s lies. You know that, too." + +"I know some one lied; I heard 'em. They denied seein' Sarah Ann, +and I saw 'em with her--with my own eyes I saw 'em. . . . But +there, there," she added; "this is enough of such talk. I'm goin' +now." + +"I didn't lie; I forgot." + +"All right, then, you forgot. I ain't jealous, Seth. I wa'n't even +jealous then. Even then I give you a chance, and you didn't take +it--you 'forgot' instead. I'm goin' back to the bungalow, but afore +I go let's understand this: you're to stay here at the lights, and I +stay where I am as housekeeper. We don't see each other any oftener +than we have to, and then only when nobody else is around. We won't +let my Miss Graham nor your Brown nor anybody know we've ever met +afore--or are meetin' now. Is that it?" + +Seth hesitated. "Yes," he said, slowly, "I guess that's it. But," +he added, anxiously, "I--I wish you'd be 'specially careful not to +let that young feller who's workin' for me know. Him and me had a-- +a sort of agreement and--and I--I--" + +"He sha'n't know. Good-by." + +She fumbled with the latch of the heavy door. He stepped forward +and opened it for her. The night was very dark; a heavy fog, almost +a rain, had drifted in while they were together. She didn't seem to +notice or mind the fog or blackness, but went out and disappeared +beyond the faint radiance which the lantern cast through the open +door. She blundered on and turned the corner of the house; then she +heard steps behind her. + +"Who is it?" she whispered, in some alarm. + +"Me," whispered the lightkeeper, gruffly. "I'll go with you a +ways." + +"No, of course you won't. I'm goin' alone." + +"It's too dark for you to go alone. You'll lose the way." + +"I'm goin' alone, I tell you! Go back. I don't want you." + +"I know you don't; but I'm goin'. You'll fetch up in the cove or +somewheres if you try to navigate this path on your own hook." + +"I sha'n't. I'm used to findin' my own way, and I'm goin' alone--as +I've had to do for a good while. Go back." + +She stopped short. Seth stopped, also. + +"Go back," she insisted, adding scornfully: "I don't care for your +help at all. I'm partic'lar about my company." + +"I ain't," sullenly. "Anyhow, I'm goin' to pilot you around the end +of that cove. You sha'n't say I let you get into trouble when I +might have kept you out of it." + +"Say? Who would I say it to? Think I'm so proud of this night's +cruise that I'll brag of it? WILL you go back?" + +"No." + +They descended the hill, Mrs. Bascom in advance. She could not see +the path, but plunged angrily on through the dripping grass and +bushes. + +"Emeline--Emeline," whispered Seth. She paid no attention to him. +They reached the foot of the slope and suddenly the lady realized +that her shoes, already wet, were now ankle deep in water. And +there seemed to be water amid the long grass all about her. + +"Why? What in the world?" she exclaimed involuntarily. "What is +it?" + +"The salt marsh at the end of the cove," answered the lightkeeper. +"I told you you'd fetch up in it if you tried to go alone. Been +tryin' to tell you you was off the track, but you wouldn't listen to +me." + +And she would not listen to him now. Turning, she splashed past +him. + +"Hold on," he whispered, seizing her arm. "That ain't the way." + +She shook herself from his grasp. + +"WILL you let me be, and mind your own business?" she hissed. + +"No, I won't. I've set out to get you home, and I'll do it if I +have to carry you." + +"Carry me? You? You DARE!" + +His answer was to pick her up in his arms. She was no light weight, +and she fought and wriggled fiercely, but Seth was big and strong +and he held her tight. She did not scream; she was too anxious not +to wake either the substitute assistant or Miss Graham, but she made +her bearer all the trouble she could. They splashed on for some +distance; then Seth set her on her feet, and beneath them was dry +ground. + +"There!" he grumbled, breathlessly. "Now I cal'late you can't miss +the rest of it. There's the bungalow right in front of you." + +"You--you--" she gasped, chokingly. + +"Ugh!" grunted her husband, and stalked off into the dark. + + +CHAPTER XI + +BEHIND THE SAND DUNE + + +"A fog last night, wasn't there?" inquired Brown. Breakfast was +over, and Seth was preparing for his day's sleep. + +"Yes, some consider'ble," was the gruff answer; then, more sharply, +"How'd you know? 'Twas all gone this mornin'." + +"Oh, I guessed, that's all." + +"Humph! Guessed, hey? You wa'n't up in the night, was you?" + +"No. Slept like a top all through." + +"Humph! . . . Well, that's good; sleep's a good thing. Cal'late +I'll turn in and get a little myself." + +He moved toward the living room. At the door he paused and asked +another question. + +"How'd you--er--guess there was fog last night?" he inquired. + +"Oh, that was easy; everything--grass and bushes--were so wet this +morning. Those boots of yours, for example," pointing to the pair +the lightkeeper had just taken off, "they look as if you had worn +them wading." + +His back was toward his superior as he spoke, therefore he did not +see the start which the latter gave at this innocent observation, +nor the horrified glare at the soaked boots. But he could not help +noticing the change in Seth's voice. + +"Wa--wadin'?" repeated Atkins faintly. "What's that you say?" + +"I said the boots were as wet as if you had been wading. Why?" + +"Wha--what made you say a fool thing like that? How could I go +wadin' on top of a lighthouse?" + +"I don't know. . . . There, there!" impatiently, "don't ask any more +questions. I didn't say you had been wading, and I didn't suppose +you really had. I was only joking. What IS the matter with you?" + +"Nothin' . . . nothin'. So you was just jokin', hey? Ha, ha! Yes, +yes, wadin' up in a lighthouse would be a pretty good joke. I--I +didn't see it at first, you know. Ha, ha! I thought you must be +off your head. Thought you'd been swimmin' too much or somethin'. +So long, I'm goin' to bed." + +But now it was the helper's turn to start and stammer. + +"Wait!" he cried. "What--what did you say about my--er--swimming, +was it?" + +"Oh, nothin', nothin'. I was just jokin', same as you was about the +wadin'. Ha, ha!" + +"Ha, ha!" + +Both laughed with great heartiness. The door shut between them, and +each stared doubtfully at his side of it for several moments before +turning away. + +That forenoon was a dismal one for John Brown. His troublesome +conscience, stirred by Seth's reference to swimming, was again in +full working order. He tried to stifle its reproaches, tried to +give his entire attention to his labors about the lights and in the +kitchen, but the consciousness of guilt was too strong. He felt +mean and traitorous, a Benedict Arnold on a small scale. He had +certainly treated Atkins shabbily; Atkins, the man who trusted him +and believed in him, whom he had loftily reproved for "spying" and +then betrayed. Yet, in a way his treason, so far, had been +unavoidable. He had promised--had even OFFERED to teach the Graham +girl the "side stroke." He had not meant to make such an offer or +promise, but Fate had tricked him into it, and he could not, as a +gentleman, back out altogether. He had been compelled to give her +one lesson. But he need not give her another. He need not meet her +again. He would not. He would keep the agreement with Seth and +forget the tenants of the bungalow altogether. Good old Atkins! +Good old Seth, the woman-hater! How true he was to his creed, the +creed which he, Brown, had so lately professed. It was a good +creed, too. Women were at the bottom of all the world's troubles. +They deserved to be hated. He would never, never-- + +"Well, by George!" he exclaimed aloud. + +He was looking once more at the lightkeeper's big leather boots. +One of them was lying on its side, and the upturned sole and heel +were thickly coated with blue clay. He crossed the room, picked up +the boots and examined them. Each was smeared with the clay. He +put them down again, shook his head, wandered over to the rocking- +chair and sat down. + +Seth had cleaned and greased those boots before he went to bed the +day before; Brown had seen him doing it. He had put them on after +supper, just before going on watch; the substitute assistant had +seen him do that, also. Therefore, the clay must have been acquired +sometime during the evening or night just past. And certainly there +was no clay at the "top of the lighthouse," or anywhere in the +neighborhood except at one spot--the salt marsh at the inner end of +the cove. Seth must have visited that marsh in the nighttime. But +why? And, if he had done so, why did he not mention the fact? And, +now that the helper thought of it, why had he been so agitated at +the casual remark concerning wading? What was he up to? Now that +the Daisy M. and story of the wife were no longer secrets, what had +Seth Atkins to conceal? + +Brown thought and guessed and surmised, but guesses and surmises +were fruitless. He finished his dishwashing and began another of +the loathed housekeeping tasks, that of rummaging the pantry and +seeing what eatables were available for his luncheon and the evening +meal. + +He spread the various odds and ends on the kitchen table, +preparatory to taking account of stock. A part of a slab of bacon, +a salt codfish, some cold clam fritters, a few molasses cookies, and +half a loaf of bread. He had gotten thus far in the inventory when +a shadow darkened the doorway. He turned and saw Mrs. Bascom, the +bungalow housekeeper. + +"Good mornin'," said Mrs. Bascom. + +Brown answered coldly. Why on earth was it always his luck to be +present when these female nuisances made their appearance? And why +couldn't they let him alone, just as he had determined to let them +alone--in the future? Of course he was glad that the caller was not +Miss Graham, but this one was bad enough. + +"Morning," he grunted, and took another dish, this one containing a +section of dry and ancient cake, Seth's manufacture, from the +pantry. + +"What you doin'? Gettin' breakfast this time of day?" asked the +housekeeper, entering the kitchen. She had a small bowl in her +hand. + +"No," replied Brown. + +"Dinner, then? Pretty early for that, ain't it?" + +"I am not getting either breakfast or dinner--or supper, madam," +replied the helper, with emphasis. "Is there anything I can do for +you?" + +"Well, I don't know but there is. I come over hopin' you might. +How's the stings?" + +"The what?" + +"The wasp bites." + +"They're all, right, thank you." + +"You're welcome, I'm sure. Did you put the cold mud on 'em, same as +I told you to?" + +"No. . . . What was it you wanted?" + +Mrs. Bascom looked about for a seat. The rocker was at the opposite +side of the room, and the other chair contained a garment belonging +to Mr. Atkins, one which that gentleman, with characteristic +disregard of the conventionalities, had discarded before leaving the +kitchen and had forgotten to take with him. The lady picked up the +garment, looked at it, and sat down in the chair. + +"Your boss is to bed, I s'pose likely?" she asked. + +"You mean Mr. Atkins? I suppose likely he is." + +"Um. I judged he was by"--with a glance at the garment which she +still held--"the looks of things. What in the world ARE you doin'-- +cleanin' house?" + +The young man sighed wearily. "Yes," he said with forced resignation, +"something of that sort." + +"Seein' what there was to eat, I guess." + +"You guess right. You said you had an errand, I think." + +"Did I? Well, I come to see if I couldn't . . . What's that stuff? +Cake?" + +She rose, picked up a slice of the dry cake, broke it between her +fingers, smelled of it, and replaced it on the plate. + +"'Tis cake, ain't it?" she observed; "or it was, sometime or other. +Who made it? You?" + +"No." + +"Oh, your boss, Mr.--er--Atkins, hey?" + +"Yes. Considering that there are only two of us here, and I didn't +make it, it would seem pretty certain that he must have." + +"Yes, I guess that's right; unless 'twas some that washed ashore +from Noah's Ark, and it's too dry for that. What on earth are +these?" picking up one of the molasses cookies; "stove lids?" + +Brown grinned, in spite of his annoyance. + +"Those are supposed to be cookies," he admitted. + +"Are they? Yes, yes. Mr. Atkins responsible for them?" + +"No--o. I'm afraid those are one of my experiments, under Mr. +Atkins's directions and orders. I'm rather proud of those cookies, +myself." + +"You'd ought to be. There, there!" with a smile, "I guess you think +I'm pretty free with my criticism and remarks, don't you? You must +excuse me. Housekeepin'--'specially the cookin' part--is my hobby, +as you might say, and I was interested to see how a couple of men +got along with the job. I mustn't set around and keep you from your +work. You might want to make some more cookies, or somethin'." + +The substitute assistant laughed aloud. "I wasn't thinking of it," +he said; "but I shall be glad to make the attempt if it would afford +you amusement." + +Mrs. Bascom laughed, too. "I guess you're better natured than I +thought you was," she observed. "It might amuse me some, I will +admit, but I ain't got the time. I came to borrow some butter, if +you've got any to spare. Down here we're as far from supplies as +the feller that run the Ark I was mentionin', old Noah himself." + +Brown took the bowl from her hands and went to the pantry to get the +butter. When he turned again she was standing by the door, one hand +hidden beneath her apron. She took the bowl with the other. + +"Much obliged," she said. "I'll fetch this back soon's the grocery +cart comes. Miss Graham made arrangements to have him drive across +every Saturday. Or, rather, I arranged for it myself. Her head's +too full of paintin' and scenery to think of much else. I tell her +you can't eat an ile paintin'--unless you're born a goat. Good-by." + +She went away. Brown chuckled and went on with his account of +stock. + +Seth "turned out" rather early that day. At half past one he +appeared in the kitchen, partially dressed. + +"Where in time is my shirt?" he demanded impatiently. + +"Your what?" + +"My shirt. I thought I took it off out here. Could have sworn I +did. Guess likely I didn't, though. Must be gettin' absent- +minded." + +He was on his way back to the bedroom when his helper called. + +"You did take it off out here," he cried. "It was on that chair +there. I remember seeing it. Probably it has fallen on the floor +somewhere." + +Atkins returned, grumbling that the kitchen floor was a "healthy +place to heave a shirt." + +"Where is it?" he asked after a hurried search. "I can't find it +nowheres. Didn't put it in the fire, did ye?" + +"Of course I didn't. I saw it. . . . Why, I remember that woman's +picking it up when she sat down." + +"Woman? What woman?" + +"That Baskin--Buskin--whatever her name is. The housekeeper at the +bungalow." + +"Was she--HERE?" Seth's question was almost a shout. His helper +stared at him. + +"Yes," he answered; "she was. She came to borrow some butter." + +"To--to borrow--butter?" + +"Why, yes. You didn't think I invited her in for a morning call, +did you? Don't act as if you had been struck by lightning. It's +not so very serious. We've got to expect some trouble of that kind. +I got rid of her as soon as I could." + +"You--you did?" + +"Yes, I did. You should thank me. I am on duty during the day, and +I suppose most of that sort of thing will fall on me. You're lucky. +Our neighbors aren't likely to make many calls after dark. . . . +What's the matter now? Why are you looking at me like that?" + +Seth walked to the door and leaned against the post. Brown repeated +his question. "What IS the matter?" he asked. "You act just as you +did when I first happened into this forsak--this place. If you've +got any more hideous secrets up your sleeve I'm going to quit." + +"Secrets!" Atkins laughed, or tried to. "I ain't got any secrets," +he declared, "any more than you have." + +The latter half of this speech shut off further questioning. Brown +turned hastily away, and the lightkeeper went into his bedroom and +finished dressing. + +"Find your shirt?" asked the young man an hour or so later. + +"Hey? Yes, yes; I found it." + +"In your room? That's odd. I could have sworn I saw it out here. +Is that it you're wearing?" + +"Hey? No. That was--was sort of s'iled, so I put on my other one. +I--I cal'late I'll go over and work on the Daisy M. a spell, unless +you need me." + +"I don't need you. Go ahead." + +The time dragged for John Brown after his superior's departure. +There was work enough to be done, but he did not feel like doing it. +He wandered around the house and lights, gloomy, restless and +despondent. Occasionally he glanced at the clock. + +It was a beautiful afternoon, just the afternoon for a swim, and he +was debarred from swimming, not only that day, but for all the +summer days to come. No matter what Seth's new secret might be, it +was surely not connected with the female sex, and Brown would be +true to the solemn compact between them. He could not bathe in the +cove because Miss Graham would be there. + +At four o'clock he stood in the shadow of the light tower looking +across the cove. As he looked he saw Miss Graham, in bathing +attire, emerge from the bungalow and descend the bluff. She did not +see him and, to make sure that she might not, he dodged back out of +sight. Then he saw something else. + +Out on the dunes back of the barn he caught a glimpse of a figure +darting to cover behind a clump of bushes. The figure was a +familiar one, but what was it doing there? He watched the bushes, +but they did not move. Then he entered the house, went upstairs, +and cautiously peered from the back attic window. + +The bushes remained motionless for some minutes. Then they stirred +ever so slightly, and above them appeared the head of Seth Atkins. +Seth seemed to be watching the cove and the lights. For another +minute he peered over the bushes, first at the bathing waters below +and then at his own dwelling. Brown ground his teeth. The light- +keeper was "spying" again, was watching to see if he violated his +contract. + +But no, that could not be, for now Seth, apparently sure that the +coast was clear, emerged from his hiding place and ran in a stooping +posture until he reached another clump further off and nearer the +end of the cove. He remained there an instant and then ran, still +crouching, until he disappeared behind a high dune at the rear of +the bungalow. And there he stayed; at least Brown did not see him +come out. + +What he did see, however, was just as astonishing. The landward +door of the bungalow opened, and Mrs. Bascom, the housekeeper, +stepped out into the yard. She seemed to be listening and looking. +Apparently she must have heard something, for she moved away for +some little distance and stood still. Then, above the edge of the +dune, showed Seth's head and arm. He beckoned to her. She walked +briskly across the intervening space, turned the ragged, grass-grown +corner of the knoll and disappeared, also. Brown, scarcely +believing his eyes, waited and watched, but he saw no more. Neither +Seth nor the housekeeper came out from behind that dune. + +But the substitute assistant had seen enough--quite enough. Seth +Atkins, Seth, the woman-hater, the man who had threatened him with +all sorts of penalties if he ever so much as looked at a female, was +meeting one of the sex himself, meeting her on the sly. What it +meant Brown could not imagine. Probably it explained the clay +smears on the boots and Seth's discomfiture of the morning; but that +was immaterial. The fact, the one essential fact, was this: the +compact was broken. Seth had broken it. Brown was relieved of all +responsibility. If he wished to swim in that cove, no matter who +might be there, he was perfectly free to do it. And he would do it, +by George! He had been betrayed, scandalously, meanly betrayed, and +it would serve the betrayer right if he paid him in his own coin. +He darted down the attic stairs, ran down the path to the boathouse, +hurriedly changed his clothes for his bathing suit, ran along the +shore of the creek and plunged in. + +Miss Graham waved a hand to him as he shook the water from his eyes. + +Over behind the sand dune a more or less interesting interview was +taking place. Seth, having made sure that his whistles were heard +and his signals seen, sank down in the shadow and awaited +developments. They were not long in coming. A firm footstep +crunched the sand, and Mrs. Bascom appeared. + +"Well," she inquired coldly, "what's the matter now?" + +Mr. Atkins waved an agitated hand. + +"Set down," he begged. "Scooch down out of sight, Emeline, for the +land sakes. Don't stand up there where everybody can see you." + +The lady refused to "scooch." + +"If I ain't ashamed of bein' seen," she observed, "I don't know why +you should be. What are you doin' over here anyhow; skippin' 'round +in the sand like a hoptoad?" + +The lightkeeper repeated his plea. + +"Do set down, Emeline, please," he urged. "I thought you and me'd +agreed that nobody'd ought to see us together." + +Mrs. Bascom gathered her skirts about her and with great +deliberation seated herself upon a hummock. + +"We did have some such bargain," she replied. "That's why I can't +understand your hidin' at my back door and whistlin' and wavin' like +a young one. What did you come here for, anyway?" + +Seth answered with righteous indignation. + +"I come for my shirt," he declared. + +"Your shirt?" + +"Yes, my other shirt. I left it in the kitchen this mornin', and +that--that helper of mine says you was in the chair along with it." + +"Humph! Did he have the impudence to say I took it?" + +"No--o. No, course he didn't. But it's gone and--and--" + +"What would I want of your shirt? Didn't think I was cal'latin' to +wear it, did you?" + +"No, but--" + +"I should hope not. I ain't a Doctor Mary Walker, or whatever her +name is." + +"But you did take it, just the same. I'm sartin you did. You must +have." + +The lady's mouth relaxed, and there was a twinkle in her eye. + +"All right, Seth," she said. "Suppose I did; what then?" + +"I want it back, that's all." + +"You can have it. Now what do you s'pose I took it for?" + +"I--I--I don't know." + +"You don't know? Humph! Did you think I wanted to keep it as a +souveneer of last night's doin's?" + +Her companion looked rather foolish. He picked up a handful of sand +and sifted it through his fingers. + +"No--o," he stammered. "I--I know how partic'lar you are--you used +to be about such things, and I thought maybe you didn't like the way +that button was sewed on." + +He glanced up at her with an embarrassed smile, which broadened as +he noticed her expression. + +"Well," she admitted, "you guessed right. There's some things I +can't bear to have in my neighborhood, and your kind of sewin' is +one of 'em. Besides, I owed you that much for keepin' me out of the +wet last night." + +"Oh! I judged by the way you lit into me for luggin' you acrost +that marsh that all you owed me was a grudge. I DID lug you, +though, in spite of your kickin', didn't I?" + +He nodded with grim triumph. She smiled. + +"You did, that's a fact," she said. "I was pretty mad at the time, +but when I come to think it over I felt diff'rent. Anyhow I've +sewed on those buttons the way they'd ought to be." + +"Much obliged. I guess they'll stay now for a spell. You always +could sew on buttons better'n anybody ever I see." + +"Humph!" . . . Then, after an interval of silence: "What are you +grinnin' to yourself about?" + +"Hey? . . . Oh, I was just thinkin' how you mended up that Rogers +young one's duds when he fell out of our Bartlett pear tree. He was +the raggedest mess ever I come acrost when I picked him up. Yellin' +like a wild thing he was, and his clothes half tore off." + +"No wonder he yelled. Caught stealin' pears--he expected to be +thrashed for that--and he KNEW Melindy Rogers would whip him, for +tearin' his Sunday suit. Poor little thing! Least I could do was +to make his clothes whole. I always pity a child with a stepmother, +special when she's Melindy's kind." + +"What's become of them Rogerses? Still livin' in the Perry house, +are they?" + +"No. Old Abel Perry turned 'em out of that when the rent got +behind. He's the meanest skinflint that ever strained skim milk. +He got married again a year ago." + +"NO! Who was the victim? Somebody from the Feeble-Minded Home?" + +She gave the name of Mr. Perry's bride, and before they knew it the +pair were deep in village gossip. For many minutes they discussed +the happenings in the Cape Ann hamlet, and then Seth was recalled to +the present by a casual glance at his watch. + +"Land!" he exclaimed. "Look at the time! This talk with you has +seemed so--so natural and old-timey, that . . . Well, I've got to +go." + +He was scrambling to his feet. She also attempted to rise, but +found it difficult. + +"Here," he cried, "give me your hand. I'll help you up." + +"I don't want any help. Let me alone. Let me ALONE, I tell you." + +His answer was to seize her about the waist and swing her bodily to +her feet. She was flushed and embarrassed. Then she laughed +shortly and shook her head. + +"What are you laughin' at?" he demanded, peering over the knoll to +make sure that neither John Brown nor Miss Graham was in sight. + +"Oh, not much," she answered. "You kind of surprise me, Seth." + +"Why?" + +"'Cause you've changed so." + +"Changed? How?" + +"Oh, changed, that's all. You seem to have more spunk than you used +to have." + +"Humph! Think so, do you?" + +"Yes, I do. I think bein' a lightkeeper must be good for some +folks--some kind of folks." + +"I want to know!" + +"Yes, you better be careful, or you'll be a real man some day." + +His answer was an angry stare and a snort. Then he turned on his +heel and was striding off. + +"Wait!" she called. "Hold on! Don't you want your shirt? Stay +here, and I'll go into the house and fetch it." + +He waited, sullen and reluctant, until she returned with the article +of apparel in one hand and the other concealed beneath her apron. + +"Here it is," she said, presenting the shirt to him. + +"Thank you," he grumbled, taking it. "Much obliged for sewin' on +the button." + +"You're welcome. It squares us for your pilotin' me over the marsh, +that's all. 'Twa'n't any favor; I owed it to you." + +He was turning the shirt over in his hands. + +"Well," he began, then stopped and looked fixedly at the garment. + +"I see you've mended that hole in the sleeve," he said. "You didn't +owe me that, did you?" + +She changed color slightly. + +"Oh," she said, with a toss of her head, "that's nothin'. Just for +good measure. I never could abide rags on anybody that--that I had +to look at whether I wanted to or not." + +"'Twas real good of you to mend it, Emeline. Say," he stirred the +sand with his boot, "you mentioned that you cal'lated I'd changed +some, was more of a man than I used to be. Do you know why?" + +"No. Unless," with sarcasm, "it was because I wa'n't around." + +"It ain't that. It's because, Emeline, it's because down here I'm +nigher bein' where I belong than anywheres else but one place. That +place is at sea. When I'm on salt water I'm a man--you don't +believe it, but I am. On land I--I don't seem to fit in right. +Keepin' a light like this is next door to bein' at sea." + +"Seth, I want to ask you a question. Why didn't you go to sea when +you ran--when you left me? I s'posed of course you had. Why didn't +you?" + +He looked at her in surprise. + +"Go to sea?" he repeated. "Go to SEA? How could I? Didn't I +promise you I'd never go to sea again?" + +"Was that the reason?" + +"Sartin. What else?" + +She did not answer. There was an odd expression on her face. He +turned to go. + +"Well, good-by," he said. + +"Good-by. Er--Seth." + +"Yes; what is it?" + +"I--I want to tell you," she stammered, "that I appreciated your +leavin' that money and stocks at the bank in my name. I couldn't +take 'em, of course, but 'twas good of you. I appreciated it." + +"That's all right." + +"Wait. Here! Maybe you'd like these." She took the hand from +beneath her apron and extended it toward him. It held a pan heaped +with objects flat, brown, and deliciously fragrant. He looked at +the pan and its contents uncomprehendingly. + +"What's them?" he demanded. + +"They're molasses cookies. I've been bakin', and these are some +extry ones I had left over. You can have 'em if you want 'em." + +"Why--why, Emeline! this is mighty kind of you." + +"Not a mite," sharply. "I baked a good many more'n Miss Ruth and I +can dispose of, and that poor helper man of yours ought to be glad +to get 'em after the cast-iron pound-weights that you and he have +been tryin' to live on. Mercy on us! the thoughts of the cookies he +showed me this mornin' have stayed in my head ever since. Made me +feel as if I was partly responsible for murder." + +"But it's kind of you, just the same." + +"Rubbish! I'd do as much for a pig any day. There! you've got your +shirt; now you'd better go home." + +She forced the pan of cookies into his hand and moved off. The +lightkeeper hesitated. + +"I--I'll fetch the pan back to-morrer," he called after her in a +loud whisper. + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE LETTER AND THE 'PHONE + + +The cookies appeared on the table that evening. Brown noticed them +at once. + +"When did you bake these?" he asked. + +Atkins made no reply, so the question was repeated with a variation. + +"Did you bake these this afternoon?" inquired the substitute +assistant. + +"Humph? Hey? Oh, yes, I guess so. Why? Anything the matter with +'em?" + +"Matter with them? No. They're the finest things I've tasted since +I came here. New receipt, isn't it?" + +"Cal'late so." + +"I thought it must be. I'll take another." + +He took another, and many others thereafter. He and his superior +cleared the plate between them. + +Brown was prepared for questions concerning his occupation of the +afternoon and was ready with some defiant queries of his own. But +no occasion arose for either defiance or cross-examination. Seth +never hinted at a suspicion nor mentioned the young lady at the +bungalow. Brown therefore remained silent concerning what he had +seen from the attic window. He would hold that in reserve, and if +Atkins ever did accuse him of bad faith or breach of contract he +could retort in kind. His conscience was clear now--he was no more +of a traitor than Seth himself--and, this being so, he felt +delightfully independent. If trouble came he was ready for it, and +in the meantime he should do as he pleased. + +But no trouble came. That day, and for many days thereafter, the +lightkeeper was sweetness itself. He and his helper had never been +more anxious to please each other, and the house at Twin-Lights was-- +to all appearances--an abode of perfect trust and peace. Every +day, when Seth was asleep or out of the way, "working on the Daisy +M.," the assistant swam to the cove, and every day he met Miss +Graham there! During the first week he returned from his dips +expecting to be confronted by his superior, and ready with counter +accusations of his own. After this he ceased to care. Seth did not +ask a question and was so trustful and unsuspecting that Brown +decided his secret was undiscovered. In fact, the lightkeeper was +so innocent that the young man felt almost wicked, as if he were +deceiving a child. He very nearly forgot the meeting behind the +sand dune, having other and much more important things to think of. + +July passed, and the first three weeks of August followed suit. The +weather, which had been glorious, suddenly gave that part of the +coast a surprise party in the form of a three days' storm. It was +an offshore gale, but fierce, and the lighthouse buildings rocked in +its grasp. Bathing was out of the question, and one of Seth's +dories broke its anchor rope and went to pieces in the breakers. +Atkins and Brown slept but little during the storm, both being on +duty the greater part of the time. + +The fourth day broke clear, but the wind had changed to the east and +the barometer threatened more bad weather to come. When Seth came +in to breakfast he found his helper sound asleep in a kitchen chair, +his head on the table. The young man was pretty well worn out. +Atkins insisted upon his going to bed for the forenoon. + +"Of course I sha'n't," protested Brown. "It's my watch, and you +need sleep yourself." + +"No, I don't, neither," was the decided answer. "I slept between +times up in the tower, off and on. You go and turn in. I've got to +drive over to Eastboro by and by, and I want you to be wide awake +while I'm away. We ain't done with this spell of weather yet. +We'll have rain and an easterly blow by night, see if we don't. You +go right straight to bed." + +"I shall do nothing of the sort." + +"Yes, you will. I'm your boss and I order you to do it. No back +talk, now. Go!" + +So Brown went, unwilling but very tired. He was sound asleep in ten +minutes. + +Seth busied himself about the house, occasionally stepping to the +window to look out at the weather. An observer would have noticed +that before leaving the window on each of these occasions, his gaze +invariably turned toward the bungalow. His thoughts were more +constant than his gaze; they never left his little cottage across +the cove. In fact, they had scarcely left it for the past month. +He washed the breakfast dishes, set the room in order, and was +turning once more toward the window, when he heard a footstep +approaching the open door. He knew the step; it was one with which +he had been familiar during other and happier days, and now, once +more--after all the years and his savage determination to forget and +to hate--it had the power to awaken strange emotions in his breast. +Yet his first move was to run into the living room and close his +helper's chamber door. When he came back to the kitchen, shutting +the living-room door carefully behind him, Mrs. Bascom was standing +on the sill. She started when she saw him. + +"Land sakes!" she exclaimed. "You? I cal'lated, of course, you was +abed and asleep." + +The lightkeeper waved his hands. + +"S-sh-h!" he whispered. + +"What shall I s-sh-h about? Your young man's gone somewhere, I +s'pose, else you wouldn't be here." + +"No, he ain't. He's turned in, tired out." + +"Oh, then I guess I'd better go back home. 'Twas him I expected to +see, else, of course, I shouldn't have come." + +"Oh, I know that," with a sigh. "Where's your boss, Miss Graham?" + +"She's gone for a walk along shore. I came over to--to bring back +them eggs I borrowed." + +"Did you? Where are they?" + +The housekeeper seemed embarrassed, and her plump cheeks reddened. + +"I--I declare I forgot to bring 'em after all," she stammered. + +"I want to know. That's funny. You don't often--that is, you +didn't use to forget things hardly ever, Emeline." + +"Hum! you remember a lot, don't you." + +"I remember more'n you think I do, Emeline." + +"That's enough of that, Seth. Remember what I told you last time we +saw each other." + +"Oh, all right, all right. I ain't rakin' up bygones. I s'pose I +deserve all I'm gettin'." + +"I s'pose you do. Well, long's I forgot the eggs I guess I might as +well be trottin' back. . . . You--you've been all right--you and +Mr. Brown, I mean--for the last few days, while the storm was goin' +on?" + +"Um-h'm," gloomily. "How about you two over to the bungalow? +You've kept dry and snug, I judge." + +"Yes." + +"I didn't know but you might be kind of nervous and scart when 'twas +blowin'. All alone so." + +"Humph! I've got used to bein' alone. As for Miss Ruth, I don't +think she's scart of anythin'." + +"Well, I was sort of nervous about you, if you wa'n't about +yourself. 'Twas consider'ble of a gale of wind. I thought one +spell I'd blow out of the top of the tower." + +"So did I. I could see your shadow movin' 'round up there once in a +while. What made you come out on the gallery in the worst of it +night afore last?" + +"Oh, the birds was smashin' themselves to pieces against the glass +same as they always do in a storm, and I . . . But say! 'twas after +twelve when I came out. How'd you come to see me? What was your +doin' up that time of night?" + +Mrs. Bascom's color deepened. She seemed put out by the question. + +"So much racket a body couldn't sleep," she explained sharply. "I +thought the shingles would lift right off the roof." + +"But you wa'n't lookin' at the shingles. You was lookin' at the +lighthouses; you jest said so. Emeline, was you lookin' for me? +Was you worried about me?" + +He bent forward eagerly. + +"Hush!" she said, "you'll wake up the other woman-hater." + +"I don't care. I don't care if I wake up all creation. Emeline, I +believe you was worried about me, same as I was about you. More'n +that," he added, conviction and exultation in his tone, "I don't +believe 'twas eggs that fetched you here this mornin' at all. I +believe you came to find out if we--if I was all right. Didn't you?" + +"I didn't come to SEE you, be sure of that," with emphatic scorn. + +"I know. But you was goin' to see Brown and find out from him. +Answer me. Answer me now, didn't--" + +She stepped toward the door. He extended an arm and held her back. + +"You answer me," he commanded. + +She tried to pass him, but his arm was like an iron bar. She +hesitated a moment and then laughed nervously. + +"You certainly have took to orderin' folks round since the old +days," she said. "Why, yes, then; I did come to find out if you +hadn't got cold, or somethin'. You're such a child and I'm such a +soft-headed fool I couldn't help it, I cal'late?" + +"Emeline, s'pose I had got cold. S'pose you found I was sick--what +then?" + +"Why--why, then I guess likely I'd have seen the doctor on my way +through Eastboro. I shall be goin' that way to-morrer when I leave +here." + +"When you leave here? What do you mean by that?" + +"Just what I say. Miss Graham's goin' to Boston to-morrer, and I'm +goin' with her--as far as the city." + +"But--but you're comin' back!" + +"What should I come back here for? My summer job's over. If you +want to know, my principal reason for comin' here this mornin' was +to say good-by--to Mr. Brown, of course." + +Seth's arm dropped. He leaned heavily against the doorpost. + +"You're goin' away!" he exclaimed. "You're goin' away! Where?" + +"I don't know. Back home, I s'pose. Though what I'll do when I get +there I don't know. I've sold the house, so I don't exactly know +where I'll put up. But I guess I'll find a place." + +"You've sold your house? The house we used to live in?" + +"Yes. The man that's been hirin' it has bought it. I'm glad, for I +need the money. So good-by, Seth. 'Tain't likely we'll meet again +in this life." + +She started toward the door once more, and this time he was too +greatly disturbed and shaken by what she had told him to detain her. +At the threshhold she turned and looked at him. + +"Good-by, Seth," she said again. "I hope you'll be happy. And," +with a half smile, "if I was you I'd stay keepin' lights; it, or +somethin' else, has improved you a whole lot. Good-by." + +Then he sprang forward. "Emeline," he cried, "Emeline, wait. You +mustn't go. I can't let you go this way. I . . . What's that?" + +"That" was the sound of horse's feet and the rattle of wheels. The +lightkeeper ran to the window. + +"It's Henry G.'s grocery cart," he said. "I cal'late he's fetchin' +some truck I ordered last week. Do you want him to see you here?" + +"I don't care. He don't know but what you and me are the best of +friends. Yet, I don't know. Maybe it's just as well he don't see +me; then there'll be no excuse for talk. I'll step inside and wait." + +She returned to the kitchen, and Seth went out to meet the wagon. +Its driver was the boy who had brought the flypaper and "Job." + +"Hello," hailed the youngster, pulling in his steed; "how be you, +Mr. Atkins? I've got some of them things you ordered. The rest +ain't come from Boston yet. Soon's they do, Henry G.'ll send 'em +down. How you feelin' these days? Ain't bought no more dogs, have +you?" + +Seth curtly replied that he "wa'n't speculatin' in dogs to no great +extent any more," and took the packages which the boy handed him. +With them was a bundle of newspapers and an accumulation of mail +matter. + +"I fetched the mail for the bungalow, too," said the boy. "There's +two or three letters for that Graham girl and one for Mrs. Bascom. +She's housekeeper there, you know." + +"Yes. Here, you might's well leave their mail along with mine. +I'll see it's delivered, all right." + +"Will you? Much obliged. Goin' to take it over yourself? Better +look out, hadn't you? That Graham girl's a peach; all the fellers +at the store's talkin' about her. Seems a pity she's wastin' her +sassiety on a woman-hater like you; that's what they say. You ain't +gettin' over your female hate, are you? Haw, haw!" + +Mr. Atkins regarded his questioner with stern disapproval. + +"There's some things--such as chronic sassiness--some folks never +get over," he observed caustically. "Though when green hides are +too fresh they can be tanned; don't forget that, young feller. Any +more chatty remarks you've got to heave over? No? Well, all right; +then I'd be trottin' back home if I was you. Henry G.'ll have to +shut up shop if you deprive him of your valuable services too long. +Good day to you." + +The driver, somewhat abashed, gathered up the reins. "I didn't mean +to make you mad," he observed. "Anything in our line you want to +order?" + +"No. I'm cal'latin' to go to the village myself this afternoon, and +if I want any more groceries I'll order 'em then. As for makin' me +mad--well, don't you flatter yourself. A moskeeter can pester me, +but he don't make me mad but once--and his funeral's held right +afterwards. Now trot along and keep in the shade much as you can. +You're so fresh the sun might spile you." + +The boy, looking rather foolish, laughed and drove out of the yard. +Seth, his arms full, went back to the kitchen. He dumped the +packages and newspapers on the table and began sorting the letters. + +"Here you are, Emeline," he said. "Here's Miss Graham's mail and +somethin' for you." + +"For me?" The housekeeper was surprised. "A letter for me! What +is it, I wonder? Somethin' about sellin' the house maybe." + +She took the letter from him and turned to the light before opening +it. Seth sat down in the rocker and began inspecting his own +assortment of circulars and papers. Suddenly he heard a sound from +his companion. Glancing up he saw that she was leaning against the +doorpost, the open letter in her hand, and on her face an expression +which caused him to spring from his chair. + +"What is it, Emeline?" he demanded. "Any bad news?" + +She scarcely noticed him until he spoke again. Then she shook her +head. + +"No," she said slowly. "Nothin' but--but what I might have +expected." + +"But what is it? It is bad news. Can't I help you? Please let me, +if I can. I--I'd like to." + +She looked at him strangely, and then turned away. "I guess nobody +can help me," she answered. "Least of all, you." + +"Why not? I'd like to; honest, I would. If it's about that house +business maybe I--" + +"It ain't" + +"Then what is it? Please, Emeline. I know you don't think much of +me. Maybe you've got good reasons; I'm past the place where I'd +deny that. I--I've been feelin' meaner'n meaner every day lately. +I--I don't know's I done right in runnin' off and leavin' you the +way I did. Don't you s'pose you could give me another chance? +Emeline, I--" + +"Seth Bascom, what do you mean?" + +"Just what I say. Emeline, you and me was mighty happy together +once. Let's try it again. I will, if you will." + +She was staring at him in good earnest now. + +"Why, Seth!" she exclaimed. "What are you talkin' about? You--the +chronic woman-hater!" + +"That be blessed! I wa'n't really a woman-hater. I only thought I +was. And--and I never hated you. Right through the worst of it I +never did. Let's try it again, Emeline. You're in trouble. You +need somebody to help you. Give me the chance." + +There was a wistful look in her eyes; she seemed, or so he thought, +to be wavering. But she shook her head. "I was in trouble before, +Seth," she said, "and you didn't help me then. You run off and left +me." + +"You just as much as told me to go. You know you did." + +"No, I didn't." + +"Well, you didn't tell me to stay." + +"It never seemed to me that a husband--if he was a man--would need +to be coaxed to stay by his wife." + +"But don't you care about me at all? You used to; I know it. And I +always cared for you. What is it? Honest, Emeline, you never took +any stock in that Sarah Ann Christy doin's, you know you didn't; +now, did you?" + +She was close to tears, but she smiled in spite of them. + +"Well, no, Seth," she answered. "I will confess that Sarah Ann +never worried me much." + +"Then DON'T you care for me, Emeline?" + +"I care for you much as I ever did. I never stopped carin' for you, +fool that I am. But as for livin' with you again and runnin' the +risk of--" + +"You won't run any risk. You say I've improved, yourself. Your +principal fault with me was, as I understand it, that I was too-- +too--somethin' or other. That I wa'n't man enough. By jiminy +crimps, I'll show you that I'm a man! Give me the chance, and +nothin' nor nobody can make me leave you again. Besides, there's +nobody to come between us now. We was all right until that--that +Bennie D. came along. He was the one that took the starch out of +me. Now he's out of the way. HE won't bother us any more and . . . +Why, what is it, Emeline?" + +For she was looking at him with an expression even more strange. +And again she shook her head. + +"I guess," she began, and was interrupted by the jingle of the +telephone bell. + +The instrument was fastened to the kitchen wall, and the lightkeeper +hastened to answer the ring. + +"Testin' the wire after the storm, most likely," he explained, +taking the receiver from the hook. "Hello! . . . Hello! . . . +Yep, this is Eastboro Lights. . . . I'm the lightkeeper, yes. . . . +Hey? . . . Miss Graham? . . . Right next door. . . . Yes. . . . +WHO?" Then, turning to his companion, he said in an astonished +voice: "It's somebody wants to talk with you, Emeline." + +"With ME?" Mrs. Bascom could hardly believe it. "Are you sure?" + +"So they say. Asked me if I could get you to the 'phone without any +trouble. She's right here now," he added, speaking into the +transmitter. "I'll call her." + +The housekeeper wonderingly took the receiver from his hand. + +"Hello!" she began. "Yes, this is Mrs. Bascom. . . . Who? . . . +What? . . . OH!" + +The last exclamation was almost a gasp, but Seth did not hear it. +As she stepped forward to the 'phone she had dropped her letter. +Atkins went over and picked it up. It lay face downward on the +floor, and the last page, with the final sentence and signature, was +uppermost. He could not help seeing it. "So we shall soon be +together as of old. Your loving brother, Benjamin." + +When Mrs. Bascom turned away from the 'phone after a rather +protracted conversation she looked more troubled than ever. But +Seth was not looking at her. He sat in the rocking-chair and did +not move nor raise his head. She waited for him to speak, but he +did not. + +"Well," she said with a sigh, "I guess I must go. Good-by, Seth." + +The lightkeeper slowly rose to his feet. "Emeline," he stammered, +"you ain't goin' without--" + +He stopped without finishing the sentence. She waited a moment and +then finished it for him. + +"I'll answer your question, if that's what you mean," she said. +"And the answer is no. All things considered, I guess that's best." + +"But Emeline, I--I--" + +"Good-by, Seth." + +"Sha'n't I," desperately, "sha'n't I see you again?" + +"I expect to be around here for another day or so. But I can't see +anythin' to be gained by our meetin'. Good-by." + +Taking her letter and those addressed to Miss Graham from the table +she went out of the kitchen. Seth followed her as far as the door, +then turned and collapsed in the rocking-chair. + + +CHAPTER XIII + +"JOHN BROWN" CHANGES HIS NAME + + +"So we shall soon be together again as of old. Your loving brother, +Benjamin." + +The sentence which had met his eyes as he picked up the note which +his caller had dropped was still before them, burned into his +memory. Benjamin! "Bennie D."! the loathed and feared and hated +Bennie D., cause of all the Bascom matrimonial heartbreaks, had +written to say that he and his sister-in-law were soon to be +together as they used to be. That meant that there had been no +quarrel, but merely a temporary separation. That she and he were +still friendly. That they had been in correspondence and that the +"inventor" was coming back to take his old place as autocrat in the +household with all his old influence over Emeline. Seth's new-found +courage and manhood had vanished at the thought. Bennie D.'s name +had scarcely been mentioned during the various interviews between +the lightkeeper and his wife. She had said her first husband's +brother had been in New York for two years, and her manner of saying +it led Seth to imagine a permanent separation following some sort of +disagreement. And now! and now! He remembered Bennie D.'s superior +airs, his polite sneers, his way of turning every trick to his +advantage and of perverting and misrepresenting his, Seth's, most +innocent speech and action into crimes of the first magnitude. He +remembered the meaning of those last few months in the Cape Ann +homestead. All his fiery determination to be what he had once been-- +Seth Bascom, the self-respecting man and husband--collapsed and +vanished. He groaned in abject surrender. He could not go through +it again; he was afraid. Of any other person on earth he would not +have been, but the unexpected resurrection of Bennie D. made him a +hesitating coward. Therefore he was silent when his wife left him, +and he realized that his opportunity was gone, gone forever. + +In utter misery and self-hatred he sat, with his head in his hands, +beside the kitchen table until eleven o'clock. Then he rose, got +dinner, and called Brown to eat it. He ate nothing himself, saying +that he'd lost his appetite somehow or other. After the meal he +harnessed Joshua to the little wagon and started on his drive to +Eastboro. "I'll be back early, I cal'late," were his last words as +he drove out of the yard. + +After he had gone, and Brown had finished clearing away and the +other housekeeping tasks which were now such a burden, the +substitute assistant went out to sit on the bench and smoke. The +threatened easterly wind had begun to blow, and the sky was dark +with tumbling clouds. The young man paid little attention to the +weather, however. All skies were gloomy so far as he was concerned, +and the darkest day was no blacker than his thoughts. Occasionally +he glanced at the bungalow, and on one such occasion was surprised +to see a carriage, one of the turnouts supplied by the Eastboro +livery stable, roll up to its door and Mrs. Bascom, the housekeeper, +emerge, climb to the seat beside the driver, and be driven away in +the direction of the village. He idly wondered where she was going, +but was not particularly interested. When, a half hour later, Ruth +Graham left the bungalow and strolled off along the path at the top +of the bluff, he was very much interested indeed. He realized, as +he had been realizing for weeks, that he was more interested in that +young woman than in anything else on earth. Also, that he had no +right--miserable outcast that he was--to be interested in her; and +certainly it would be the wildest insanity to imagine that she could +be interested in him. + +For what the lightkeeper might say or do, in the event of his secret +being discovered, he did not care in the least. He was long past +that point. And for the breaking of their solemn compact he did not +care either. Seth might or might not have played the traitor; that, +too, was a matter of no importance. Seth himself was of no +importance; neither was he. There was but one important person in +the whole world, and she was strolling along the bluff path at that +moment. Therefore he left his seat on the bench, hurried down the +slope to the inner end of the cove, noting absently that the tide of +the previous night must have been unusually high, climbed to the +bungalow, turned the corner, and walked slowly in the direction of +the trim figure in the blue suit, which was walking, even more +slowly, just ahead of him. + +It may be gathered that John Brown's feelings concerning the +opposite sex had changed. They had, and he had changed in other +ways, also. How much of a change had taken place he did not himself +realize, until this very afternoon. He did not realize it even then +until, after he and the girl in blue had met, and the customary +expressions of surprise at their casual meeting had been exchanged, +the young lady seated herself on a dune overlooking the tumbling sea +and observed thoughtfully: + +"I shall miss all this"--with a wave of her hand toward the waves-- +"next week, when I am back again in the city." + +Brown's cap was in his hand as she began to speak. After she had +finished he stooped to pick up the cap, which had fallen to the +ground. + +"You are going away--next week?" he said slowly. + +"We are going to-morrow. I shall remain in Boston for a few days. +Then I shall visit a friend in the Berkshires. After that I may +join my brother in Europe; I'm not sure as to that." + +"To-morrow?" + +"Yes!" + +There was another one of those embarrassing intervals of silence +which of late seemed to occur so often in their conversation. Miss +Graham, as usual, was the first to speak. + +"Mr. Brown," she began. The substitute assistant interrupted her. + +"Please don't call me that," he blurted involuntarily. "It--oh, +confound it, it isn't my name!" + +She should have been very much surprised. He expected her to be. +Instead she answered quite calmly. + +"I know it," she said. + +"You DO?" + +"Yes. You are 'Russ' Brooks, aren't you?" + +Russell Brooks, alias John Brown, dropped his cap again, but did not +pick it up. He swallowed hard. + +"How on earth did you know that?" he asked as soon as he could say +anything. + +"Oh, it was simple enough. I didn't really know; I only guessed. +You weren't a real lightkeeper, that was plain. And you weren't +used to washing dishes or doing housework--that," with the +irrepressible curl of the corners of her lips, "was just as plain. +When you told me that fib about meeting my brother here last summer +I was sure you had met him somewhere, probably at college. So in my +next letter to him I described you as well as I could, mentioned +that you were as good or a better swimmer than he, and asked for +particulars. He answered that the only fellow he could think of who +fitted your description was 'Russ' Brooks--Russell, I suppose--of +New York; though what Russ Brooks was doing as lightkeeper's +assistant at Eastboro Twin-Lights he DIDN'T know. Neither did I. +But then, THAT was not my business." + +The substitute assistant did not answer: he could not, on such short +notice. + +"So," continued the girl, "I felt almost as if I had known you for a +long time. You and Horace were such good friends at college, and he +had often told me of you. I was very glad to meet you in real life, +especially here, where I had no one but Mrs. Bascom to talk to; Mr. +Atkins, by reason of his aversion to my unfortunate sex, being +barred." + +Mr. Brown's--or Mr. Brooks'--next speech harked back to her previous +one. + +"I'll tell you while I'm here," he began. + +"You needn't, unless you wish," she said. "I have no right to +know"--adding, with characteristic femininity, "though I'm dying +to." + +"But I want you to know. As I told Atkins when I first came, I +haven't murdered anyone and I haven't stolen anything. I'm not a +crook running from justice. I'm just a plain idiot who fell +overboard from a steamer and"--bitterly--"hadn't the good luck to +drown." + +She made no comment, and he began his story, telling it much as he +had told it to the lightkeeper. + +"There!" he said in conclusion, "that's the whole fool business. +That's why I'm here. No need to ask what you think of it, I +suppose." + +She was silent, gazing at the breakers. He drew his own conclusions +from her silence. + +"I see," he said. "Well, I admit it. I'm a low down chump. Still, +if I had it to do over again, I should do pretty much the same. A +few things differently, but in general the very same." + +"What would you do differently?" she asked, still without looking at +him. + +"For one thing, I wouldn't run away. I'd stay and face the music. +Earn my living or starve." + +"And now you're going to stay here?" + +"No longer than I can help. If I get the appointment as assistant +keeper I'll begin to save every cent I can. Just as soon as I get +enough to warrant risking it I'll head for Boston once more and +begin the earning or starving process. And," with a snap of his +jaws, "I don't intend to starve." + +"You won't go back to your father?" + +"If he sees fit to beg my pardon and acknowledge that I was right-- +not otherwise. And he must do it of his own accord. I told him +that when I walked out of his office. It was my contribution to our +fond farewell. His was that he would see me damned first. Possibly +he may." + +She smiled. + +"You must have been a charming pair of pepper pots," she observed. +"And the young lady--what of her?" + +"She knows that I am fired, cut off even without the usual shilling. +That will be quite sufficient for her, I think." + +"How do you know it will? How do you know she might not have been +willing to wait while you earned that living you are so sure is +coming?" + +"Wait? She wait for me? Ann Davidson wait for a man without a cent +while he tried to earn a good many dollars? Humph! you amuse me." + +"Why not? You didn't give her a chance. You calmly took it for +granted that she wanted only money and social position and you +walked off and left her. How do you know she wouldn't have liked +you better for telling her just how you felt. If a girl really +cared for a man it seems to me that she would be willing to wait for +him, years and years if it were necessary, provided that, during +that time, he was trying his best for her." + +"But--but--she isn't that kind of a girl." + +"How do you know? You didn't put her to the test. You owed her +that. It seems to me you owe it to her now." + +The answer to this was on his tongue. It was ready behind his +closed lips, eager to burst forth. That he didn't love the Davidson +girl, never had loved her. That during the past month he had come +to realize there was but one woman in the wide world for him. And +did that woman mean what she said about waiting years--and years-- +provided she cared? And did she care? + +He didn't utter one word of this. He wanted to, but it seemed so +preposterous. Such an idiotic, outrageous thing to ask. Yet it is +probable that he would have asked it if the young lady had given him +the chance. But she did not; after a sidelong glance at his face, +she hurriedly rose from the rock and announced that she must be +getting back to the house. + +"I have some packing to do," she explained; "and, besides, I think +it is going to rain." + +"But, Miss Graham, I--" + +A big drop of rain splashing upon his shoe confirmed the weather +prophecy. She began to walk briskly toward the bungalow, and he +walked at her side. + +"Another storm," she said. "I should think the one we have just +passed through was sufficient for a while. I hope Mrs. Bascom won't +get wet." + +"She has gone to the village, hasn't she?" + +"Yes. She has received some message or other--I don't know how it +came--which sent her off in a hurry. A livery carriage came for +her. She will be back before night." + +"Atkins has gone, too. He had some errands, I believe. I can't +make out what has come over him of late. He has changed greatly. +He used to be so jolly and good-humored, except when female +picnickers came. Now he is as solemn as an owl. When he went away +he scarcely spoke a word. I thought he seemed to be in trouble, but +when I asked him, he shut me up so promptly that I didn't press the +matter." + +"Did he? That's odd. Mrs. Bascom seemed to be in trouble, too. I +thought she had been crying when she came out of her room to go to +the carriage. She denied it, but her eyes looked red. What can be +the matter?" + +"I don't know." + +"Nor I. Mr.--er--Brooks-- Or shall I still call you 'Brown'?" + +"No. Brown is dead; drowned. Let him stay so." + +"Very well. Mr. Brooks, has it occurred to you that your Mr. Atkins +is a peculiar character? That he acts peculiarly?" + +"He has acted peculiarly ever since I knew him. But to what +particular peculiarity do you refer?" + +"His queer behavior. Several times I have seen him--I am almost +sure it was he--hiding or crouching behind the sand hills at the +rear of our bungalow." + +"You have? Why, I--" + +He hesitated. Before he could go on or she continue, the rain came +in a deluge. They reached the porch just in time. + +"Well, I'm safe and reasonably dry," she panted. "I'm afraid you +will be drenched before you get to the lights. Don't you want an +umbrella?" + +"No. No, indeed, thank you." + +"Well, you must hurry then. Good-by." + +"But, Miss Graham," anxiously, "I shall see you again before you go. +To-morrow, at bathing time, perhaps?" + +"Judging by the outlook just at present, bathing will be out of the +question to-morrow." + +"But I want to see you. I must." + +She shook her head doubtfully. "I don't know," she said. "I shall +be very busy getting ready to leave; but perhaps we may meet again." + +"We must. I--Miss Graham, I--" + +She had closed the door. He ran homeward through the rain, the +storm which soaked him to the skin being but a trifle compared to +the tornado in his breast. + +He spent the balance of the day somehow, he could not have told how. +The rain and wind continued; six o'clock came, and Seth should have +returned an hour before, but there was no sign of him. He wondered +if Mrs. Bascom had returned. He had not seen the carriage, but she +might have come while he was inside the house. The lightkeeper's +nonappearance began to worry him a trifle. + +At seven, as it was dark, he took upon himself the responsibility of +climbing the winding stairs in each tower and lighting the great +lanterns. It was the first time he had done it, but he knew how, +and the duty was successfully accomplished. Then, as Atkins was +still absent and there was nothing to do but wait, he sat in the +chair in the kitchen and thought. Occasionally, and it showed the +trend of his thoughts, he rose and peered from the window across the +dark to the bungalow. In the living room of the latter structure a +light burned. At ten it was extinguished. + +At half past ten he went to Seth's bedroom, found a meager +assortment of pens, ink and note paper, returned to the kitchen, +sat down by the table and began to write. + +For an hour he thought, wrote, tore up what he had written, and +began again. At last the result of his labor read something like +this: + + +"DEAR MISS GRAHAM: + +"I could not say it this afternoon, although if you had stayed I +think I should. But I must say it now or it may be too late. I +can't let you go without saying it. I love you. Will you wait for +me? It may be a very long wait, although God knows I mean to try +harder than I have ever tried for anything in my life. If I live I +will make something of myself yet, with you as my inspiration. You +know you said if a girl really cared for a man she would willingly +wait years for him. Do you care for me as much as that? With you, +or for you, I believe I can accomplish anything. DO you care? + +"RUSSELL BROOKS." + + +He put this in an envelope, sealed and addressed it, and without +stopping to put on either cap or raincoat went out in the night. + +The rain was still falling, although not as heavily, but the wind +was coming in fierce squalls. He descended the path to the cove, +floundering through the wet bushes. At the foot of the hill he was +surprised to find the salt marsh a sea of water not a vestige of +ground above the surface. This was indeed a record-breaking tide, +such as he had never known before. He did not pause to reflect upon +tides or such trivialities, but, with a growl at being obliged to +make the long detour, he rounded the end of the cove and climbed up +to the door of the bungalow. Under the edge of that door he tucked +the note he had written. As soon as this was accomplished he became +aware that he had expressed himself very clumsily. He had not +written as he might. A dozen brilliant thoughts came to him. He +must rewrite that note at all hazards. + +So he spent five frantic minutes trying to coax that envelope from +under the door. But, in his care to push it far enough, it had +dropped beyond the sill, and he could not reach it. The thing was +done for better or for worse. Perfectly certain that it was for +worse, he splashed mournfully back to the lights. In the lantern +room of the right-hand tower he spent the remainder of the night, +occasionally wandering out on the gallery to note the weather. + +The storm was dying out. The squalls were less and less frequent, +and the rain had been succeeded by a thick fog. The breakers +pounded in the dark below him, and from afar the foghorns moaned and +wailed. It was a bad night, a night during which no lightkeeper +should be absent from his post. And where was Seth? + + +CHAPTER XIV + +"BENNIE D." + + +Seth's drive to Eastboro was a dismal journey. Joshua pounded along +over the wet sand or through ruts filled with water, and not once +during the trip was he ordered to "Giddap" or "Show some signs of +life." Not until the first scattered houses of the village were +reached did the lightkeeper awaken from his trance sufficiently to +notice that the old horse was limping slightly with the right +forefoot. + +"Hello!" exclaimed Seth. "What's the matter with you, Josh?" + +Joshua slopped on, but this was a sort of three-legged progress. +The driver leaned forward and then pulled on the reins. + +"Whoa!" he ordered. "Stand still!" + +Joshua stood still, almost with enthusiasm. Seth tucked the end of +the reins between the whip socket and the dashboard, and swung out +of the wagon to make an examination. Lifting the lame foot, he +found the trouble at once. The shoe was loose. + +"Humph!" he soliloquized. "Cal'late you and me'll have to give +Benijah a job. Well," climbing back into the vehicle, "I said I'd +never give him another after the row we had about the last, but I +ain't got ambition enough to go clear over to the Denboro +blacksmith's. I don't care. I don't care about nothin' any more. +Giddap." + +Benijah Ellis's little, tumble-down blacksmith shop was located in +the main street of Eastboro, if that hit-or-miss town can be said to +possess a main street. Atkins drove up to its door, before which he +found Benijah and a group of loungers inspecting an automobile, the +body of which had been removed in order that the engine and running +gear might be the easier reached. The blacksmith was bending over +the car, his head and shoulders down amidst the machinery; a big +wrench was in his hand, and other wrenches, hammers, and tools of +various sizes were scattered on the ground beside him. + +"Hello, Benije," grunted Seth. + +Ellis removed his nose from its close proximity to the gear shaft +and straightened up. He was a near-sighted, elderly man, and wore +spectacles. Just now his hands, arms, and apron were covered with +grease and oil, and, as he wiped his forehead with the hand not +holding the wrench, he left a wide mourning band across it. + +"Well?" he panted. "Who is it? Who wants me?" + +One of the loafers, who had been assisting the blacksmith by holding +his pipe while he dove into the machinery, languidly motioned toward +the new arrival. Benijah adjusted his spectacles and walked over to +the wagon. + +"Who is it?" he asked crossly. Then, as he recognized his visitor, +he grunted: "Ugh! it's you, hey. Well, what do YOU want?" + +"Want you to put a new shoe on this horse of mine," replied Seth, +not too graciously. + +"Is that so! Well, I'm busy." + +"I don't care if you be. I guess you ain't so busy you can't do a +job of work. If you are, you're richer'n I ever heard you was." + +"I want to know! Maybe I'm particular who I work for, Seth Atkins." + +"Maybe you are. I ain't so particular; if I was, I wouldn't come +here, I tell you that. This horse of mine's got a loose shoe, and I +want him attended to quick." + +"Thought you said you'd never trust me with another job." + +"I ain't trustin' you now. I'll be here while it's done. And I +ain't askin' you to trust me, neither. I'll pay cash--cash, d'ye +understand?" + +The bystanders grinned. Mr. Ellis's frown deepened. "I'm busy," he +declared, with importance. "I've got Mr. Delancey Barry's +automobile to fix, and I can't stop to bother with horses--specially +certain kind of horses." + +This sneer at Joshua roused his owner's ire. He dropped the reins +and sprang to the ground. + +"See here, Benije Ellis," he growled, advancing upon the repairer of +automobiles, who retreated a step or two with promptness. "I don't +care what you're fixin', nor whose it is, neither. I guess 'twill +be 'fixed' all right when you get through with it, but that ain't +neither here nor there. And it don't make no difference if it does +belong to Mr. Barry. If 'twas Elijah's chariot of fire 'twould be +just the same. That auto won't be done this afternoon, and nobody +expects it to be. Here's my horse sufferin' to be shod; I want him +shod and I've got the money to pay for it. When it's winter time +you're around cryin' that you can't earn money to pay your bills. +Now, just because it's summer and there's city big-bugs in the +neighborhood innocent enough to let you tinker with their autos-- +though they'll never do it but once--I don't propose to be put off. +If you won't shoe this horse of mine I'll know it's because you've +got so much money you don't need more. And if that's the case, +there's a whole lot of folks would be mighty glad to know it--Henry +G. Goodspeed for one. I'm goin' up to his store now. Shall I tell +him?" + +This was a shot in the bull's-eye. Mr. Ellis owed a number of +bills, had owed them for a long time, and Mr. Goodspeed's was by no +means the smallest. The loafers exchanged winks, and the +blacksmith's manner became more conciliatory. + +"I didn't say I wouldn't do it for you, Seth," he pleaded. "I'm +always willin' to do your work. You're the one that's been +complainin'." + +"Ugh! Well, I'm likely to complain some more, but the complaint's +one thing, and the need's another. I'm like Joel Knowles--he said +when he couldn't get whisky he worried along best he could with bay +rum. I need a blacksmith, and if I can't get a real one I'll put up +with an imitation. Will you shoe this horse for me?" + +"Course I'll shoe him. But I can't do it this minute. I've got +this consarned machine," waving a hand toward the automobile, "out +of door here and all to pieces. And it's goin' to rain. Just let +me put enough of it together so's I can shove it into the shop out +of the wet, and then I'll tackle your job. You leave your horse and +team here and go do your other errands. He'll be ready when you +come back." + +So on this basis the deal was finally made. Seth was reluctant to +trust the precious Joshua out of his sight, but, after some parley, +he agreed to do so. The traces were unfastened, and the animal was +led into the shop, the carriage was backed under a shed, and the +lightkeeper went away promising to be back in an hour. As soon as +he had gone, Ellis dived again into the vitals of the auto. + +The argument with the blacksmith had one satisfactory result so far +as Seth was concerned. In a measure it afforded a temporary vent +for his feelings. He was moderately agreeable during his brief stay +at the grocery store, and when his orders were given and he found +the hour not half over, he strolled out to walk about the village. +And then, alone once more, all his misery and heartache returned. +He strode along, his head down, scarcely speaking to acquaintances +whom he met, until he reached the railway station, where he sat down +on the baggage truck to mentally review, over and over again, the +scene with Emeline and the dreadful collapse of his newborn hopes +and plans. + +As he sat there, the door of the station opened and a man emerged, a +man evidently not a native of Eastboro. He was dressed in a rather +loud, but somewhat shabby, suit of summer plaid, his straw hat was +set a trifle over one ear, and he was smoking the stump of a not too +fragrant cigar. Altogether he looked like a sporting character +under a temporary financial cloud, but the cloud did not dim his +self-satisfaction nor shadow his magnificent complaisance. He +regarded the section of Eastboro before him with condescending +scorn, and then, catching sight of the doleful figure on the baggage +truck, strolled over and addressed it. + +"I say, my friend," he observed briskly, "have you a match concealed +about your person? If so, I--" + +He stopped short, for Mr. Atkins, after one languid glance in his +direction, had sprung from the truck and was gazing at him as if he +was some apparition, some figure in a nightmare, instead of his +blase self. And he, as he looked at the lightkeeper's astounded +countenance, dropped the cigar stump from his fingers and stepped +backward in alarmed consternation. + +"You--you--YOU?" gasped Seth. + +"YOU!" repeated the stranger. + +"You!" cried Seth again; not a brilliant nor original observation, +but, under the circumstances, excusable, for the nonchalant person +in the plaid suit was Emeline Bascom's brother-in-law, the genius, +the "inventor," the one person whom he hated--and feared--more than +anyone else in the world--Bennie D. himself. + +There was a considerable interval during which neither of the pair +spoke. Seth, open-mouthed and horror-stricken, was incapable of +speech, and the inventor's astonishment seemed to be coupled with a +certain nervousness, almost as if he feared a physical assault. +However, as the lightkeeper made no move, and his fists remained +open, the nervousness disappeared, and Bennie D. characteristically +took command of the situation. + +"Hum!" he observed musingly. "Hum! May I ask what you are doing +here?" + +"Huh--hey?" was Seth's incoherent reply. + +"I ask what you are doing here? Have you followed me?" + +"Fol-follered you? No." + +"You're sure of that, are you?" + +"Yes, I be." Seth did not ask what Bennie D. was doing there. +Already that question was settled in his mind. The brother-in-law +had found out that Emeline was living next door to the man she +married, that her summer engagement was over, and he had come to +take her away. + +"Well?" queried the inventor sharply, "if you haven't followed me, +what are you doing here? What do you mean by being here?" + +"I belong here," desperately. "I work here." + +"You do? And may I ask what particular being is fortunate enough to +employ you?" + +"I'm keeper down to the lighthouses, if you want to know. But I +cal'late you know it already." + +Bennie D.'s coolness was not proof against this. He started. + +"The lighthouses?" he repeated. "The--what is it they call them?-- +the Twin-Lights?" + +"Yes. You know it; what's the use of askin' fool questions?" + +The inventor had not known it--until that moment, and he took time +to consider before making another remark. His sister-in-law was +employed as housekeeper at some bungalow or other situated in close +proximity to the Twin-Lights; that he had discovered since his +arrival on the morning train. Prior to that he had known only that +she was in Eastboro for the summer. Before that he had not been +particularly interested in her location. Since the day, two years +past, when, having decided that he had used her and her rapidly +depleting supply of cash as long as was safe or convenient, he had +unceremoniously left her and gone to New York to live upon money +supplied by a credulous city gentleman, whom his smooth tongue had +interested in his "inventions," he had not taken the trouble even to +write to Emeline. But within the present month the New Yorker's +credulity and his "loans" had ceased to be material assets. Then +Bennie D., face to face with the need of funds, remembered his +sister and the promise given his dead brother that he should be +provided with a home as long as she had one. + +He journeyed to Cape Ann and found, to his dismay, that she was no +longer there. After some skillful detective work, he learned of the +Eastboro engagement and wrote the letter--a piteous, appealing +letter, full of brotherly love and homesickness--which, held back by +the storm, reached Mrs. Bascom only that morning. In it he stated +that he was on his way to her and was counting the minutes until +they should be together once more. And he had, as soon after his +arrival in the village as possible, 'phoned to the Lights and spoken +with her. Her tone, as she answered, was, he thought, alarmingly +cold. It had made him apprehensive, and he wondered if his +influence over her was on the wane. But now--now he understood. +Her husband--her husband, of all people--had been living next door +to her all summer. No doubt she knew he was there when she took the +place. Perhaps they had met by mutual agreement. Why, this was +appalling! It might mean anything. And yet Seth did not look +triumphant or even happy. Bennie D. resolved to show no signs of +perturbation or doubt, but first to find out, if he could, the +truth, and then to act accordingly. + +"Mr. Bascom--" he began. The lightkeeper, greatly alarmed, +interrupted him. + +"Hush!" he whispered. "Don't say that. That ain't my name--down +here." + +"Indeed? What is your name?" + +"Down here they call me Seth Atkins." + +Bennie D. looked puzzled. Then his expression changed. He was +relieved. When he 'phoned to the Lights--using the depot 'phone-- +the station agent had seemed to consider his calling a woman over +the lighthouse wire great fun. The lightkeeper, so the agent said, +was named Atkins, and was a savage woman-hater. He would not see a +woman, much less speak to one; it was a standing joke in the +neighborhood, Seth's hatred of females. That seemed to prove that +Emeline and her husband were not reconciled and living together, at +least. Possibly their being neighbors was merely a coincidence. If +so, he might not have come too late. When he next addressed his +companion it was in a different tone and without the "Mister." + +"Bascom--or--er--Atkins," he said sharply, "I hoped--I sincerely +hoped that you and I might not meet during my short stay here; but, +as we have met, I think it best that we should understand each +other. Suppose we walk over to that clump of trees on the other +side of the track. We shall be alone there, and I can say what is +necessary. I don't wish--even when I remember your behavior toward +my sister--to humiliate you in the town where you may be trying to +lead a better life. Come." + +He led the way, and Seth, yielding as of old to this man's almost +hypnotic command over him and still bewildered by the unexpected +meeting, followed like a whipped dog. Under the shelter of the +trees they paused. + +"Now then," said Bennie D., "perhaps you'll tell me what you mean by +decoying my sister down here in my absence, when I was not present +to protect her. What do you mean by it?" + +Seth stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Decoyin' her?" he repeated. +"I never decoyed her. I've been here ever since I left--left you +and her that night. I never asked her to come. I didn't know she +was comin'. And she didn't know I was here until--until a month or +so ago. I--" + +Bennie D. held up a hand. He was delighted by this piece of news, +but he did not show it. + +"That will do," he said. "I understand all that. But since then-- +since then? What do you mean by trying to influence her as you +have? Answer me!" + +The lightkeeper rubbed his forehead. + +"I ain't tried to influence her," he declared. "She and me have +scarcely seen each other. Nobody knows that we was married, not +even Miss Graham nor the young feller that's--that's my helper at +the lights. You must know that. She must have wrote you. What are +you talkin' about?" + +She had not written; he had received no letters from her during the +two years, but again the wily "genius" was equal to the occasion. +He looked wise and nodded. + +"Of course," he said importantly. "Of course. Certainly." + +He hesitated, not knowing exactly what his next move should be. And +Seth, having had time to collect, in a measure, his scattered wits, +began to do some thinking on his own account. + +"Say," he said suddenly, "if you knew all this aforehand, what are +you askin' these questions for?" + +"That," Bennie D.'s gesture was one of lofty disdain, "is my +business." + +"I want to know! Well, then, maybe I've got some business of my +own. Who made my business your business? Hey?" + +"The welfare of my sister--" + +"Never you mind your sister. You're talkin' with me now. And you +ain't got me penned up in a house, neither. By jiminy crimps!" His +anger boiled over, and, to the inventor's eyes, he began to look +alarmingly alive. "By jiminy crimps!" repeated Seth, "I've been +prayin' all these years to meet you somewheres alone, and now I've a +good mind to--to--" + +His big fist closed. Bennie D. stepped backward out of reach. + +"Bascom--" he cried, "don't--" + +"Don't you call me that!" + +"Bascom--" The inventor was thoroughly frightened, and his voice +rose almost to a shout. + +The lightkeeper's wrath vanished at the sound of the name. If any +native of Eastboro, if the depot master on the other side of the +track, should hear him addressed as "Bascom," the fat would be in +the fire for good and all. The secret he had so jealously guarded +would be out, and all the miserable story would, sooner or later, be +known. + +"Don't call me Bascom," he begged. Er--please don't." + +Bennie D.'s courage returned. Yet he realized that if a trump card +was to be played it must be then. This man was dangerous, and, +somehow or other, his guns must be spiked. A brilliant idea +occurred to him. Exactly how much of the truth Seth knew he was not +sure, but he took the risk. + +"Very well then--Atkins," he said contemptuously. "I am not used to +aliases--not having dealt with persons finding it necessary to +employ them--and I forget. But before this disagreeable interview +is ended I wish you to understand thoroughly why I am here. I am +here to protect my sister and to remove her from your persecution. +I am here to assist her in procuring a divorce." + +"A divorce! A DIVORCE! Good heavens above!" + +"Yes, sir," triumphantly, "a divorce from the man she was trapped +into marrying and who deserted her. You did desert her, you can't +deny that. So long as she remains your wife, even in name, she is +liable to persecution from you. She understands this. She and I +are to see a lawyer at once. That is why I am here." + +Seth was completely overwhelmed. A divorce! A case for the papers +to print, and all of Ostable county to read! + +"I--I--I--" he stammered, and then added weakly, "I don't believe +it. She wouldn't . . . There ain't no lawyer here." + +Then we shall seek the one nearest here. Emeline understands. I +'phoned her this morning." + +"Was it YOU that 'phoned?" + +"It was. Now--er--Atkins, I am disposed to be as considerate of +your welfare as possible. I know that any publicity in this matter +might prejudice you in the eyes of your--of the government +officials. I shall not seek publicity, solely on your account. The +divorce will be obtained privately, provided--PROVIDED you remain +out of sight and do not interfere. I warn you, therefore, not to +make trouble or to attempt to see my sister again. If you do--well, +if you do, the consequences will be unpleasant for you. Do you +understand?" + +Seth understood, or thought he did. He groaned and leaned heavily +against a tree trunk. + +"You understand, do you?" repeated Bennie D. "I see that you do. +Very good then. I have nothing more to say. I advise that you +remain--er--in seclusion for the next few days. Good-by." + +He gave a farewell glance at the crushed figure leaning against the +tree. Then he turned on his heel and walked off. + +Seth remained where he was for perhaps ten minutes, not moving a +muscle. Then he seemed to awaken, looked anxiously in the direction +of the depot to make sure that no one was watching, pulled his cap +over his eyes, jammed his hands into his pockets, and started to +walk across the fields. He had no fixed destination in mind, had no +idea where he was going except that he must go somewhere, that he +could not keep still. + +He stumbled along, through briers and bushes, paying no attention to +obstacles such as fences or stone walls until he ran into them, when +he climbed over and went blindly on. A mile from Eastboro, and he +was alone in a grove of scrub pines. Here he stopped short, struck +his hands together, and groaned aloud: + +"I don't believe it! I don't believe it!" + +For he was beginning not to believe it. At first he had not thought +of doubting Bennie D.'s statement concerning the divorce. Now, as +his thoughts became clearer, his doubts grew. His wife had not +mentioned the subject in their morning interview. Possibly she +would not have done so in any event, but, as the memory of her +behavior and speech became clearer in his mind, it seemed to him +that she could not have kept such a secret. She had been kinder, +had seemed to him more--yes, almost--why, when he asked her to be +his again, to give him another chance, she had hesitated. She had +not said no at once, she hesitated. If she was about to divorce +him, would she have acted in such a way? It hardly seemed possible. + +Then came the letter and the telephone message. It was after these +that she had said no with decision. Perhaps . . . was it possible +that she had known of her brother-in-law's coming only then? Now +that he thought of it, she had not gone away at once after the talk +over the 'phone. She had waited a moment as if for him to speak. +He, staggered and paralyzed by the sight of his enemy's name in that +letter, had not spoken and then she . . . He did not believe she +was seeking a divorce! It was all another of Bennie D.'s lies! + +But suppose she was seeking it. Or suppose--for he knew the +persuasive power of that glib tongue only too well--suppose her +brother-in-law should persuade her to do it. Should he sit still-- +in seclusion, as his late adviser had counseled--and let this +irrevocable and final move be made? After a divorce--Seth's idea of +divorces were vague and Puritanical--there would be no hope. He and +Emeline could never come together after that. And he must give her +up and all his hopes of happiness, all that he had dreamed of late, +would be but dreams, never realities. No! he could not give them +up. He would not. Publicity, scandal, everything, he could face, +but he would not give his wife up without a fight. What should he +do? + +For a long time he paced up and down beneath the pines trying to +plan, to come to some decision. All that he could think of was to +return to the Lights, to go openly to the bungalow, see Emeline and +make one last appeal. Bennie D. might be there, but if he was-- +well, by jiminy crimps, let him look out, that's all! + +He had reached this point in his meditations when the wind, which +had been steadily increasing and tossing the pinetops warningly, +suddenly became a squall which brought with it a flurry of rain. He +started and looked up. The sky was dark, it was late in the +afternoon, and the storm he had prophesied had arrived. + +Half an hour later he ran, panting and wet, into the blacksmith's +shop. The automobile was standing in the middle of the floor, and +Mr. Ellis was standing beside it, perspiring and troubled. + +"Where's Joshua?" demanded Seth. + +"Hey?" inquired the blacksmith absently. + +"Where's my horse? Is he ready?" + +Benijah wiped his forehead. + +"Gosh!" he exclaimed. "By . . . gosh!" + +"What are you b'goshin' about?" + +"Seth--I don't know what you'll say to me--but--but I declare I +forgot all about your horse." + +"You FORGOT about him?" + +"Yes. You see that thing?" pointing pathetically at the auto. +"Well, sir, that pesky thing's breakin' my heart--to say nothin' of +my back. I got it apart all right, no trouble about that. And by +good rights I've got it together again, leastways it looks so. Yet, +by time," in distracted agitation, "there's a half bucket of bolts +and nuts and odds and ends that ain't in it yet--left over, you +might say. And I can't find any place to put one of 'em. Do you +wonder I forget trifles?" + +Trifles! the shoeing of Joshua a trifle! The lightkeeper had been +suffering for an opportunity to blow off steam, and the opportunity +was here. Benijah withered under the blast. + +"S-sh-sh! sh-sh!" he pleaded. "Land sakes, Seth Atkins, stop it! I +don't blame you for bein' mad, but you nor nobody else sha'n't talk +to me that way. I'll fix your horse in five minutes. Yes, sir, in +five minutes. Shut up now, or I won't do it at all!" + +He rushed over to the stall in the rear of the shop, woke Joshua +from the sweet slumber of old age, and led him to the halter beside +the forge. The lightkeeper, being out of breath, had nothing +further to say at the moment. + +"What's the matter with all you lighthouse folks?" asked Benijah, +anxious to change the subject. "What's possessed the whole lot of +you to come to the village at one time? Whoa, boy, stand still!" + +"The whole lot of us?" repeated Seth. "What do you mean?" + +"Mean I've seen two of you at least this afternoon. That Bascom +woman, housekeeper at the Graham bungalow she is, went past here +twice. Fust time she was in one of Snow's livery buggies, Snow's +boy drivin' her. Then, about an hour ago, she went by again, but +the boy'd gone, and there was another feller pilotin' the team--a +stranger, nobody I ever see afore." + +Seth's red face turned pale. "What?" he cried. "Em--Mrs. Bascom +ridin' with a stranger! What sort of a stranger?" + +"Oh, a feller somewheres between twenty and fifty. Smooth-faced +critter with a checked suit and a straw hat. . . . What on earth's +the matter with you now?" + +For the lightkeeper was shaking from head to foot. + +"Did--did--which way was they goin'? Back to the Lights or--or +where?" + +"No, didn't seem to be goin' to the Lights at all. They went on the +other road. Seemed to be headin' for Denboro if they kept on as +they started. . . . Seth Atkins, have you turned loony?" + +Seth did not answer. With a leap he landed at Joshua's head, +unhooked the halter, and ran out of the shop leading the horse. The +astonished blacksmith followed as far as the door. Seth was backing +the animal into his wagon, which stood beneath the shed. He +fastened the traces with trembling fingers. + +"What in the world has struck you?" shouted Ellis. "Ain't you goin' +to have that shoe fixed? He can't travel that way. Seth! Seth +Atkins! . . . By time, he IS crazy!" + +Seth did not deny the charge. Climbing into the wagon, he took up +the reins. + +"Are you sure and sartin' 'twas the Denboro road they took?" he +demanded. + +"Who took? That feller and the Bascom woman? Course I am, but . . . +Well, I swan!" + +For the lightkeeper waited to hear no more. He struck the +unsuspecting Joshua with the end of the reins and, with a jump, the +old horse started forward. Another moment, and the lighthouse wagon +was splashing and rattling through the pouring rain along the road +leading to Denboro. + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE VOYAGE OF THE DAISY M. + + +Denboro is many long miles from Eastboro, and the road, even in the +best of weather, is not a good one. It winds and twists and climbs +and descends through woods and over hills. There are stretches of +marshy hollows where the yellow clay needs but a little moistening +to become a paste which sticks to wheels and hoofs and makes +traveling, even behind a young and spirited horse, a disheartening +progress. + +Joshua was neither young nor spirited. And the weather could not +have been much worse. The three days' storm had soaked everything, +and the clay-bottomed puddles were near kin to quicksands. As the +lighthouse wagon descended the long slope at the southern end of the +village and began the circle of the inner extremity of Eastboro Back +Harbor, Seth realized that his journey was to be a hard one. The +rain, driven by the northeast wind, came off the water in blinding +gusts, and the waves in the harbor were tipped with white. Also, +although the tide was almost at its lowest, streaks of seaweed +across the road showed where it had reached that forenoon, and +prophesied even a greater flood that night. He turned his head and +gazed up the harbor to where it narrowed and became Pounddug Slough. +In the Slough, near its ocean extremity, his old schooner, the Daisy +M., lay stranded. He had not visited her for a week, and he +wondered if the "spell of weather" had injured her to any extent. +This speculation, however, was but momentary. The Daisy M. must +look out for herself. His business was to reach Judge Gould's, in +Denboro, before Mrs. Bascom and Bennie D. could arrange with that +prominent citizen and legal light for the threatened divorce. + +That they had started for Judge Gould's he did not doubt for a +moment. "I shall seek the nearest lawyer," Bennie D. had said. And +the judge was the nearest. They must be going there, or why should +they take that road? Neither did he doubt now that their object was +to secure the divorce. How divorces were secured, or how long it +took to get one, Seth did not know. His sole knowledge on that +subject was derived from the newspapers and comic weeklies, and he +remembered reading of places in the West where lawyers with the +necessary blanks in their pockets met applicants at the arrival of +one train and sent them away, rejoicing and free, on the next. + + + "You jump right off the cars and then + Turn round and jump right on again." + + +This fragment of a song, sung at a "moving-picture" show in the town +hall, and resung many times thereafter by Ezra Payne, John Brown's +predecessor as assistant keeper at the lights, recurred to him as he +urged the weary Joshua onward. So far as Seth knew, the Reno custom +might be universal. At any rate, he must get to Judge Gould's +before Emeline and her brother-in-law left there. What he should do +when he arrived and found them there was immaterial; he must get +there, that was all. + +Eastboro Back Harbor was left behind, and the long stretch of woods +beyond was entered. Joshua, his hoofs swollen by the sticky clay to +yellow cannon balls, plodded on, but, in spite of commands and +pleadings--the lightkeeper possessed no whip and would not have used +one if he had--he went slower and slower. He was walking now, and +limping sadly on the foot where the loose shoe hung by its bent and +broken nails. + +Five miles, six, seven, and the limp was worse than ever. Seth, +whose conscience smote him, got out of the carriage into the rain +and mud and attempted repairs, using a stone as a hammer. This +seemed to help matters some, but it was almost dark when the granite +block marking the township line was passed, and the windows in the +houses were alight when he pulled up at the judge's door. + +The judge himself answered the knock, or series of knocks. He +seemed much surprised to find the keeper of Eastboro Twin-Lights +standing on his front step. + +"Why, hello, Atkins!" he cried. "What in the world are you doing +over here? a night like this!" + +"Has--has Mrs. Bascom been here? Is she here now?" panted Seth +anxiously. + +"Mrs. Bascom? Who is Mrs. Bascom?" + +"She--she's a friend of mine. She and--and a relation of hers was +comin' over here to see you on business. Ain't they here? Ain't +they been here?" + +"No. No one has been here this afternoon. I've been in since one +o'clock, and not a soul has called, on business or otherwise." + +The lightkeeper could scarcely believe it. + +"You're sure?" he demanded. + +"Certainly. If they came before one my wife would have told me, I +think. I'll ask her." + +"No, no," hastily. "You needn't. If they ain't been since one they +ain't been. But I don't understand. . . . There's no other lawyer +nigh here, is there?" + +"No; none nearer than Bayport." + +"My land! My LAND! Then--then I'm out of soundin's somehow. They +never came for it, after all." + +"Came for what?" + +"Nothin', nothin', I guess," with a sickly smile. "I've made some +sort of mistake, though I don't know how. Benije must have . . . +I'll break that feller's neck; I will!" + +The lawyer began to share the blacksmith's opinion that his caller +had gone crazy. + +"Come in, Atkins," he urged. "Come in out of the wet. What IS the +matter? What are you doing here at this time of night so far from +the Lights? Is it anything serious? Come in and tell me about it." + +But Seth, instead of accepting the invitation, stared at him aghast. +Then, turning about, he leaped down the steps, ran to the wagon and +climbed in. + +"Giddap!" he shouted. Poor, tired Joshua lifted his clay-daubed +hoofs. + +"You're not going back?" cried Gould. "Hold on, Atkins! Wait!" + +But Seth did not wait. Already he had turned his horse's head +toward Eastboro, and was driving off. The lawyer stood still, +amazedly looking after him. Then he went into the house and spent +the next quarter of an hour trying to call the Twin-Lights by +telephone. As the northeast wind had finished what the northwest +one had begun and the wire was down, his attempt was unsuccessful. +He gave it up after a time and sat down to discuss the astonishing +affair with his wife. He was worried. + +But his worriment was as nothing compared to Seth's. The lawyer's +reference to the Lights had driven even matrimonial troubles from +the Atkins mind. The lights! the Twin-Lights! It was long past the +time for them to be lit, and there was no one to light them but +Brown, a green hand. Were they lit at all? If not, heaven knew +what might happen or had happened already. + +He had thought of this before, of course, had vaguely realized that +he was betraying his trust, but then he had not cared. The Lights, +his position as keeper, everything, were side issues compared with +the one thing to be done, the getting to Denboro. He had reached +Denboro and found his journey all a mistake; his wife and Bennie D. +had not, apparently, visited that village; perhaps had not even +started for it. Therefore, in a measure relieved, he thought of +other things. He was many miles from his post of duty, and now his +sole idea was to get back to it. + +At ten o'clock Mrs. Hepsibah Deacon, a widow living in a little +house in the woods on the top of the hill on the Denboro side of +Eastboro Back Harbor, with no neighbors for a mile in either +direction, was awakened by shouts under her bedroom window. Opening +that window she thrust forth her head. + +"Who is it?" she demanded quaveringly. "What's the matter? Is +anything afire?" + +From the blackness of the rain and fog emerged a vague shape. + +"It's me, Mrs. Deacon; Seth Atkins, down to the Lights, you know. +I've left my horse and carriage in your barn. Josh--he's the horse-- +is gone lame and played himself out. He can't walk another step. +I've unharnessed him and left him in the stall. He'll be all right. +I've given him some water and hay. Just let him stay there, if it +ain't too much trouble, and I'll send for him to-morrer and pay for +his keep. It's all right, ain't it? Much obliged. Good night." + +Before the frightened widow could ask a question or utter a word he +was gone, ploughing down the hill in the direction of the Back +Harbor. When he reached the foot of that hill where the road should +have been, he found that it had disappeared. The tide had risen and +covered it. + +It was pitch-dark, the rain was less heavy, and clouds of fog were +drifting in before the wind. Seth waded on for a short distance, +but soon realized that wading would be an impossibility. Then, as +in despair, he was about ready to give up the attempt, a dark object +came into view beside him. It was a dory belonging to one of the +lobstermen, which, at the end of its long anchor rope, had swung +inshore until it floated almost over the road. Seth seized it in +time to prevent collision with his knees. The thole pins were in +place, and the oars laid lengthwise on its thwarts. As his hands +touched the gunwale a new idea came to him. + +He had intended walking the rest of the way to Eastboro, routing out +the liveryman and hiring a horse and buggy with which to reach the +Lights. Now he believed chance had offered him an easier and more +direct method of travel. He could row up the Harbor and Slough, +land close to where the Daisy M. lay, and walk the rest of the way +in a very short time. He climbed into the dory, pulled up the +anchor, and seated himself at the oars. + +The bottom of the boat was two inches deep with rain water, and the +thwart was dripping and cold. Seth, being already about as wet as +he could be, did not mind this, but pulled with long strokes out +into the harbor. The vague black shadows of the land disappeared, +and in a minute he was, so far as his eyes could tell him, afloat on +a shoreless sea. He had no compass, but this did not trouble him. +The wind, he knew, was blowing directly from the direction he wished +to go, and he kept the dory's bow in the teeth of it. He rowed on +and on. The waves, out here in the deep water, were of good size, +and the spray flew as he splashed into them. He knew that he was +likely to get off the course, but the Back Harbor was, except for +its upper entrance, landlocked, and he could not go far astray, no +matter where he might hit the shore. + +The fog clouds, driven by the squalls, drifted by and passed. At +rare intervals the sky was almost clear. After he had rowed for +half an hour and was beginning to think he must be traveling in +circles, one of these clear intervals came and, far off to the left +and ahead, he saw something which caused him to utter an exclamation +of joy. Two fiery eyes shone through the dark. The fog shut them +in again almost immediately, but that one glance was sufficient to +show that all was well at the post he had deserted. The fiery eyes +were the lanterns in the Twin-Lights towers. John Brown had been +equal to the emergency, and the lamps were lighted. + +Seth's anxiety was relieved, but that one glimpse made him even more +eager for home. He rowed on for a short time, and then began edging +in toward the invisible left-hand shore. Judging by the length of +time he had been rowing, he must be close to the mouth of the +Slough, where, winding through the salt marshes, it emerged into the +Back Harbor. + +He crept in nearer and nearer, but no shore came in sight. The fog +was now so thick that he could see not more than ten feet from the +boat, but if he was in the mouth of the Slough he should have +grounded on the marsh bank long before. The reason that he did not, +a reason which did not occur to him at the time, was that the +marshes were four feet under water. Owing to the tremendous tide +Pounddug Slough was now merely a continuation of the Harbor and +almost as wide. + +The lightkeeper began to think that he must have miscalculated his +distance. He could not have rowed as far as he thought. Therefore, +he again turned the dory's nose into the teeth of the wind and +pulled steadily on. At intervals he stopped and listened. All he +heard was the moan of distant foghorns and the whistling of the +gusts in trees somewhere at his left. There were pine groves +scattered all along the bluffs on the Eastboro side, so this did not +help him much except to prove that the shore was not far away. He +pulled harder on the right oar. Then he stopped once more to +listen. + +Another blast howled through the distant trees and swept down upon +him. Then, borne on the wind, he heard from somewhere ahead, and +alarmingly near at hand, other sounds, voices, calls for help. + +"Ahoy!" he shouted. "Ahoy there! Who is it? Where are you?" + +"Help!" came the calls again--and nearer. "Help!" + +"Look out!" roared Seth, peering excitedly over his shoulder into +the dark. "Where are you? Look out or you'll be afoul of . . . +Jumpin' Judas!" + +For out of the fog loomed a bulky shape driving down upon him. He +pulled frantically at the oars, but it was too late. A mast rocked +against the sky, a stubby bowsprit shot over the dory, and the +little boat, struck broadside on, heeled to the water's edge. Seth, +springing frantically upward, seized the bowsprit and clung to it. +The dory, pushed aside and half full of water, disappeared. From +the deck behind the bowsprit two voices, a man's voice and a +woman's, screamed wildly. + +Seth did not scream. Clinging to the reeling bowsprit, he swung up +on it, edged his way to the vessel's bows and stepped upon the deck. + +"For thunder sakes!" he roared angrily, "what kind of navigation's +this? Where's your lights, you lubbers? What d'you mean by-- +Where are you anyhow? And--and what schooner's this?" + +For the deck, as much as he could see of it in the dark, looked +astonishingly familiar. As he stumbled aft it became more familiar +still. The ropes, a combination of new and old, the new boards in +the deck planking, the general arrangement of things, as familiar to +him as the arrangement of furniture in the kitchen of the Lights! +It could not be . . . but it was! The little schooner was his own, +his hobby, his afternoon workshop--the Daisy M. herself. The Daisy +M., which he had last seen stranded and, as he supposed, hard and +fast aground! The Daisy M. afloat, after all these years! + +From the stern by the cabin hatch a man came reeling toward him, +holding to the rail for support with one hand and brandishing the +other. + +"Help!" cried the man wildly. "Who is it? Help us! we're drowning! +We're . . . Can't you put us ashore. Please put us . . . Good +Lord!" + +Seth made no answer. How could he? The man was Bennie D. + +And then another figure followed the first, and a woman's voice +spoke pleadingly. + +"Have you got a boat?" it cried. "We're adrift on this dreadful +thing and . . . why, SETH!" + +The woman was Emeline Bascom. + +"Why, SETH!" she said again. Then the sounds of the wind and waves +and the creaking and cracking of the old schooner alone broke the +silence. + +But Bennie D., even under the shock of such a surprise as this, did +not remain silent long. His precious self was in danger. + +"You put us ashore!" he shouted. "You put us ashore right off, do +you hear? Don't stand there like a fool! Do something. Do you +want us to drown? DO something!" + +Seth came to life. His first speech was sharp and businesslike. + +"Emeline," he said, "there's a lantern hanging up in the cabin. Go +light it and fetch it to me. Hurry!" + +"It's upset," was the frightened answer. "Bennie found it when we +first came aboard. When we--when this awful boat started, it upset +and went out." + +"Never mind. Probably there's ile enough left for a spell. Go +fetch it. There's matches in a box on the wall just underneath +where 'twas hangin'. Don't stop to talk! Move!" + +Mrs. Bascom moved. Seth turned to the "inventor." + +"Come for'ard with me," he ordered. "Here! this way! for'ard! +FOR'ARD!" + +He seized his companion by the arm and pulled him toward the bow. +The frightened genius held back. + +"What in time is the matter with you?" snarled the lightkeeper. +"Are your feet asleep? Come!" + +Bennie D. came, under compulsion. Seth half led, half dragged him +to the bow, and, bending down, uncoiled a rope and put it in his +hands. + +"Them's the jib halliards," he explained. "Haul on 'em quick and +hard as you can. If we can h'ist the jib we can get some steerage +way on her, maybe. Haul! haul till you can't haul no more. Then +hang on till I come back and make fast." + +He rushed back to the wheel. The tiller ropes were new, and he +could trust them, fortunately. From the cabin hatchway emerged Mrs. +Bascom bearing the lighted lantern. + +"Good!" snapped Seth. "Now we can see what we're doin' and, if we +show a glim, maybe we won't run down no more dories. You go for'ard +and-- No, you take this wheel and hold it just as 'tis. JUST as +'tis; understand? I'll be back in a jiffy. What in thunder's the +matter with that foolhead at the jib?" + +He seized the lantern and rushed to the bow. Bennie D. had dropped +the halliard and was leaning over the rail screaming for help. + +Seth hoisted the jib himself, made it fast, and then turned his +attention to the mutinous hand. + +"Shut up!" he bellowed, catching him by the arm. "Who do you +cal'late's goin' to hear you? Shut up! You come with me. I want +you to pump. The old craft would do well enough if she was tight, +but she's more'n likely takin' water like a sieve. You come and +pump." + +But Bennie had no notion of pumping. With a jerk he tore loose from +the lightkeeper's grasp and ran to the stern, where he continued his +howls for help. + +Seth was at his heels. + +"Stop that, I tell you," he commanded angrily. "It don't do no +good. If you don't want to go to the bottom you'll work that pump. +Don't be such a clown." + +The frantic genius paid no attention. His sister-in-law left the +wheel and put her hand on his shoulder. "Please, Bennie," she +pleaded. "Please do as he says. He knows, and--" + +Bennie D. pushed her backward with savage force. "Mind your own +business," he yelled with an oath. "'Twas your foolishness got me +into this." Then, leaning over the rail, he called shrilly, +"He--lp! I'm drowning! Help!" + +Mrs. Bascom staggered back against the wheel, which Seth had seized +the instant she deserted it. "Oh!" she said, "you hurt me." + +Her husband freed an arm and put it about her. "Are you much hurt, +Emeline?" he asked sharply. + +"No--o. No, Seth. I--I guess I ain't really hurt at all." + +"Good! Then you take this wheel and hold her just so. That's it. +AND DON'T YOU DROP IT AGAIN. I'll attend to this feller." + +His wiry fingers locked themselves in Bennie D.'s shirt collar. + +"I ordered you to pump," said Seth. "Now then, you come and pump!" + +"Let go!" screamed his captive. "Take your hands off me, or--" + +The back of his head striking the deck put a period in the middle of +his sentence. The next moment he was being dragged by the collar to +the little hand pump amidships. + +"Pump!" roared the lightkeeper. "Pump! or I'll break your +everlastin' neck. Lively now!" + +The dazed genius rose to his knees. "What--" he stammered. +"Where--" + +"Right there in front of you. Lively, you lubber!" + +A well-directed kick helped to facilitate liveliness. + +"What shall I do?" wailed Bennie D., fumbling the pump brake. "How +does it go?" + +"Up and down--so." Seth jerked his victim's head up and down, by +way of illustration. "Now, then," he continued, "you pump till I +say quit, or I'll--I swan to man I'll make a spare tops'l out of +your hide!" + +He left the inventor working as he had not worked in the memory of +man, and strode back to the wheel. Mrs. Bascom was clinging to the +spokes for dear life. + +"I--I ain't dropped it, Seth," she declared. "Truly I ain't." + +"All right. You can drop it now. I'll take it myself. You set +down and rest." + +He took the wheel and she collapsed, breathless, against the rail. +After a time she ventured to ask a question. + +"Seth!" she said, "how do you know which way to steer?" + +"I don't," was the reply. "All I'm tryin' to do is keep her afore +it. If this no'theast wind would hold, we'd be all right, but it's +dyin' fast. And the tide must be at flood, if not startin' to go +out. With no wind, and no anchor, and the kind of ebb tide there'll +be pretty soon--well, if we don't drift out to sea we'll be +lucky. . . . Pump! pump! you son of a roustabout. If I hear you +stoppin' for a second I'll come for'ard and murder you." + +Bennie D., who had ventured to rest for a moment, bent his aching +back to the task. Was this man-slaughtering tyrant his mild- +mannered, meek brother-in-law, the creature whom he had brow-beaten +so often and managed so effectively? He could not understand--but +he pumped. + +Perhaps Seth did not understand, either; perhaps he did not try to. +Yet the explanation was simple and natural. The sea, the emergency, +the danger, his own deck beneath his feet--these were like old +times, here was a situation he knew how to handle. He forgot that +he was a lightkeeper absent from duty, forgot that one of his +passengers was the wife he had run away from, and the other his +bugbear, the dreaded and formidable Bennie D. He forgot all this +and was again the able seaman, the Tartar skipper who, in former +days, made his crews fear, respect, and swear by him. + +And he reveled in his authority. Once Mrs. Bascom rose to peer over +the rail. + +"Emeline," he snapped, "didn't I tell you to set down and set still? +Must I give orders twice? SET DOWN!" + +Emeline "set." + +The wind died to fitful gusts. The schooner barely moved. The fog +was as thick as ever. Still Seth did not lose courage. When the +housekeeper ventured to murmur that she was certain they would +drown, he reassured her. + +"Keep your pennant mast-high, Emeline," he said cheerfully. "We +ain't out at sea, that's sure and sartin. And, until we get in the +breakers, we're safe enough. The old gal leaks some; she ain't as +dry as a Good-Templar prayer meetin', but she's afloat. And when +I'm afloat I ain't afraid, and you needn't be." + +Some time after that he asked a question in his turn. + +"Emeline," he said, "what in the world are you doin' here, on my +schooner?" + +"Your schooner, Seth? Yours? Is this dreadful--is this boat +yours?" + +"Yup. She's mine. I bought her just for fun a long spell ago, and +I've been fussin' with her ever since. But I did it FOR fun; I +never s'posed she'd take a cruise--like this. And what are you and-- +him--doin' on her?" + +Mrs. Bascom hesitated. "It was all an accident, Seth," she +explained. "This has been an awful night--and day. Bennie and I +was out ridin' together, and we took the wrong road. We got lost, +and the rain was awful. We got out of the buggy to stand under some +trees where 'twas drier. The horse got scared at some limbs fallin' +and run off. Then it was most dark, and we got down to the shore +and saw this boat. There wa'n't any water round her then. Bennie, +he climbed aboard and said the cabin was dry, so we went into it to +wait for the storm to let up. But it kept gettin' worse. When we +came out of the cabin it was all fog like this and water everywhere. +Bennie was afraid to wade, for we couldn't see the shore, so we went +back into the cabin again. And then, all at once, there was a bump +that knocked us both sprawlin'. The lantern went out, and when we +come on deck we were afloat. It was terrible. And then--and then +you came, Seth, and saved our lives." + +"Humph! Maybe they ain't saved yet. . . . Emeline, where was you +drivin' to?" + +"Why, we was drivin' home, or thought we was." + +"Home?" + +"Yes, home--back to the bungalow." + +"You was?" + +"Yes." + +A pause. Then: "Emeline, there's no use your tellin' me what ain't +so. I know more than you think I do, maybe. If you was drivin' +home why did you take the Denboro road?" + +"The Denboro road? Why, we only went on that a ways. Then we +turned off on what we thought was the road to the Lights. But it +wa'n't; it must have been the other, the one that goes along by the +edge of the Back Harbor and the Slough, the one that's hardly ever +used. Seth," indignantly, "what do you mean by sayin' that I told +you what wa'n't so? Do you think I lie?" + +"No. No more than you thought I lied about that Christy critter." + +"Seth, I was always sorry for that. I knew you didn't lie. At +least I ought to have known you didn't. I--" + +"Wait. What did you take the Denboro road at all for?" + +"Why--why-- Well, Seth, I'll tell you. Bennie wanted to talk to +me. He had come on purpose to see me, and he wanted me to do +somethin' that--that . . . Anyhow, he'd come to see me. I didn't +know he was comin'. I hadn't heard from him for two years. That +letter I got this--yesterday mornin' was from him, and it most +knocked me over." + +"You hadn't HEARD from him? Ain't he been writin' you right along?" + +"No. The fact is he left me two years ago without even sayin' good- +by, and--and I thought he had gone for good. But he hadn't," with a +sigh, "he hadn't. And he wanted to talk with me. That's why he +took the other road--so's he'd have more time to talk, I s'pose." + +"Humph! Emeline, answer me true: Wa'n't you goin' to Denboro to +get--to get a divorce from me?" + +"A divorce? A divorce from YOU? Seth Bascom, I never heard such--" + +She rose from her seat against the rail. + +"Set down," ordered her husband sharply. "You set down and keep +down." + +She stared, gasped, and resumed her seat. Seth gazed straight ahead +into the blackness. He swallowed once or twice, and his hands +tightened on the spokes of the wheel. + +"That--that feller there," nodding grimly toward the groaning figure +at the pumps, "told me himself that him and you had agreed to get a +divorce from me--to get it right off. He give me to understand that +you expected him, 'twas all settled and that was why he'd come to +Eastboro. That's what he told me this afternoon on the depot +platform." + +Mrs. Bascom again sprang up. + +"Set down!" commanded Seth. + +"I won't." + +"Yes, you will. Set down." And she did. + +"Seth," she cried, "did he--did Bennie tell you that? Did he? Why, +I never heard such a--I never! Seth, it ain't true, not a word of +it. Did you think I'd get a divorce? Me? A self-respectin' woman? +And from you?" + +"You turned me adrift." + +"I didn't. You turned yourself adrift. I was in trouble, bound by +a promise I give my dyin' husband, to give his brother a home while +I had one. I didn't want to do it; I didn't want him with us-- +there, where we'd been so happy. But I couldn't say anything. I +couldn't turn him out. And you wouldn't, you--" + +She was interrupted. From beneath the Daisy M.'s keel came a long, +scraping noise. The little schooner shook, and then lay still. The +waves, no longer large, slapped her sides. + +Mrs. Bascom, startled, uttered a little scream. Bennie D., knocked +to his knees, roared in fright. Seth alone was calm. Nothing, at +that moment, could alarm or even surprise him. + +"Humph!" he observed, "we're aground somewheres. And in the Harbor. +We're safe and sound now, I cal'late. Emeline, go below where it's +dry and stay there. Don't talk--go. As for you," leaving the wheel +and striding toward the weary inventor, "you can stop pumpin'-- +unless," with a grim smile, "you like it too well to quit--and set +down right where you be. Right where you be, I said! Don't you +move till I say the word. WHEN I say it, jump!" + +He went forward, lowered the jib, and coiled the halliards. Then, +lantern in hand, he seated himself in the bows. After a time he +filled his pipe, lit it by the aid of the lantern, and smoked. +There was silence aboard the Daisy M. + +The wind died away altogether. The fog gradually disappeared. From +somewhere not far away a church clock struck the hour. Seth heard +it and smiled. Turning his head he saw in the distance the Twin- +Lights burning steadily. He smiled again. + +Gradually, slowly, the morning came. The last remnant of low- +hanging mist drifted away. Before the bows of the stranded schooner +appeared a flat shore with a road, still partially covered by the +receding tide, along its border. Fish houses and anchored dories +became visible. Behind them were hills, and over them roofs and +trees and steeples. + +A step sounded behind the watcher in the bows. Mrs. Bascom was at +his elbow. + +"Why, Seth!" she cried, "why, Seth! it's Eastboro, ain't it? We're +close to Eastboro." + +Seth nodded. "It's Eastboro," he said. "I cal'lated we must be +there or thereabouts. With that no'theast breeze to help us we +couldn't do much else but fetch up at the inner end of the Back +Harbor." + +She laid her hand timidly on his arm. + +"Seth," she whispered, "what should we have done without you? You +saved our lives." + +He swung about and faced her. "Emeline," he said, "we've both been +awful fools. I've been the biggest one, I guess. But I've learned +my lesson--I've swore off--I told you I'd prove I was a man. Do you +think I've been one tonight?" + +"Seth!" + +"Well, do you? Or," with a gesture toward the "genius" who was +beginning to take an interest in his surroundings, "do you like that +kind better?" + +"Seth," reproachfully, "I never liked him better. If you had--" + +She was interrupted by her brother-in-law, who came swaggering +toward them. With the sight of land and safety, Bennie D.'s courage +returned; also, his old assurance. + +"Humph!" he observed. "Well, sister, we are safe, I really believe. +In spite of," with a glare at the lightkeeper, "this person's insane +recklessness and brutality. Now I will take you ashore and out of +his presence." + +Seth rose to his feet. + +"Didn't I tell you," he demanded, "not to move till I said the word? +Emeline, stay right here." + +Bennie D. stared at the speaker; then at his sister-in-law. + +"Sister," he cried, in growing alarm, "sister, come! come! we're +going ashore, I tell you. What are you waiting for?" + +Seth put his arm about the lady. + +"She is goin' ashore," he said. "But she's goin' with me, and she's +goin' to stay with me. Ain't you, Emeline?" + +The lady looked up into his face and then down again. "If you want +me, Seth," she said. + +Bennie D. sprang forward. "Emeline," he shrieked, "what do you +mean? Are you going to leave me? Have you forgotten--" + +"She ain't forgot nothin'," broke in Seth. "But YOU'RE forgettin' +what I told you. Will you go aft there and set down, or shall I +make you?" + +"But--but, Emeline--sister--have you forgotten your promise to your +dying husband? To my brother? You promised to give me a home as +long as you owned one." + +Then Seth played his trump. + +"She don't own any home," he declared triumphantly. "She sold her +house, and she ain't got any home--except the one I'm goin' to give +her. And if you ever dare to show your head inside of THAT, I'll-- +I'll heave you over both lights. If you think I'm foolin', just try +and see. Now then, Emeline." + +And, with his wife in his arms, Seth Atkins--Seth Atkins Bascom-- +CAPTAIN Seth Atkins Bascom--swung over the rail and waded to land. + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE EBB TIDE + + +"John Brown," his long night's vigil over, extinguished the lights +in the two towers, descended the iron stairs, and walked across the +yard into the kitchen. His first move, after entering the house, +was to ring the telephone bell and endeavor to call Eastboro. He +was anxious concerning Atkins. Seth had not returned, and the +substitute assistant was certain that some accident must have +befallen him. The storm had been severe, but it would take more +than weather to keep the lightkeeper from his post; if he was all +right he would have managed to return somehow. + +Brown rang the bell time and time again, but got no response. The +storm had wrecked the wires, that was certain, and that means of +communication was cut off. He kindled the fire in the range and +tried to forget his anxiety by preparing breakfast. When it was +prepared he waited a while and then sat down to a lonely meal. But +he had no appetite, and, after dallying with the food on his plate, +gave it up and went outside to look about him. + +The first thing he looked at was the road from the village. No sign +of life in that direction as far as he could see. Then he looked at +the bungalow. Early as it was, a thread of blue smoke was ascending +from the chimney. Did that mean that the housekeeper had returned? +Or had Ruth Graham been alone all through the miserable night? +Under ordinary circumstances he would have gone over and asked if +all was well. He would have done that, even if Seth were at home-- +he was past the point where the lightkeeper or their compact could +have prevented him--but he could not muster courage to go now. She +must have found the note he had tucked under the door, and he was +afraid to hear her answer. If it should be no, then--well, then he +did not care what became of him. + +He watched the bungalow for a time, hoping that she might come out-- +that he might at least see her--but the door did not open. Auguring +all sorts of dismal things from this, he moped gloomily back to the +kitchen. He was tired and had not slept for thirty hours, but he +felt no desire for bed. He could not go to bed anyway until Atkins +returned--and he did not want to. + +He sat down in a chair and idly picked up one of a pile of +newspapers lying in the corner. They were the New York and Boston +papers which the grocery boy had brought over from Eastboro, with +the mail, the previous day. Seth had not even looked at them, and +Brown, who seldom or never read newspapers, found that he could not +do so now. He tossed them on the table and once more went out of +doors. After another glance at the bungalow, he walked to the edge +of the bluff and looked over. + +He was astonished to see how far the tide had risen in the night. +The line of seaweed and drift marking its highest point was well up +the bank. Now the ebb was foaming past the end of the wharf. He +looked for the lobster car, which should have been floating at its +moorings, but could not see it. Either it was under the wharf or it +had been swept away and was gone. And one of the dories was gone, +too. No, there it was, across the cove, high and dry on the beach. +If so much damage was visible from where he stood, it was probable +that a closer examination might show even more. He reentered the +kitchen, took the boathouse key from its nail--the key to Seth's +wonderful purchase, the spring lock which was to keep out thieves +and had so far been of no use except as a trouble-maker--and started +for the wharf. As he passed the table he picked up the bundle of +newspapers and took them with him. The boathouse was the repository +for rubbish, old papers and magazines included, and these might as +well be added to the heap. Atkins had not read this particular lot, +but the substitute assistant did not think of this. + +The lobster car was not under the wharf. The ropes which had moored +it were broken, and the car was gone. Splinters and dents in the +piles showed where it had banged and thumped in the grasp of the +tide before breaking loose. And, lying flat on the wharf and +peering under it, it seemed to him that the piles themselves were a +trifle aslant; that the whole wharf had settled down on the outer +side. + +He rose and was about to go further out for another examination, +when his foot struck the pile of papers he had brought with him. He +picked them up, and, unlocking the boathouse door--it stuck and +required considerable effort to open it--entered the building, +tossed the papers on the floor, and turned to go out. Before he +could do so the door swung shut with a bang and a click. + +At first he did not realize what the click meant. Not until he +tried to open it did he understand. The settling of the wharf had +thrown the door and its frame out of the perpendicular. That was +why it stuck and opened with such reluctance. When he opened it, he +had, so to speak, pushed it uphill. Its own weight had swung it +back, and the spring lock--in which he had left the key--had worked +exactly as the circular of directions declared it would do. He was +a prisoner in that boathouse. + +Even then he did not fully grasp the situation. He uttered an +exclamation of impatience and tugged at the door; but it was heavy, +jammed tight in its frame, and the lock was new and strong. He +might as well have tried to pull up the wharf. + +After a minute of fruitless effort he gave up the attempt on the +door and moved about the little building, seeking other avenues of +escape. The only window was a narrow affair, high up at the back, +hung on hinges and fastened with a hook and staple. He climbed up +on the fish nets and empty boxes, got the window open, and thrust +his head and one shoulder through the opening. That, however, was +as far as he could go. A dwarf might have squeezed through that +window, but not an ex-varsity athlete like Russell Brooks or a husky +longshoreman like "John Brown." It was at the back, facing the +mouth of the creek and the sea, and afforded a beautiful marine +view, but that was all. He dropped back on the fish nets and +audibly expressed his opinion of the lock and the man who had bought +it. + +Then he tried the door again, again gave it up, and sat down on the +fish nets to think. Thinking was unsatisfactory and provoking. He +gave that up, also, and, seeing a knothole in one of the boards in +the landward side of his jail, knelt and applied his eye to the +aperture. His only hope of freedom, apparently, lay in the arrival +home of the lightkeeper. If Seth had arrived he could shout through +that knothole and possibly be heard. + +The knothole, however, commanded a view, not of the lighthouse +buildings, but of the cove and the bungalow. The bungalow! Ruth +Graham! Suddenly, and with a shock, flashed to his mind the thought +that his imprisonment, if at all prolonged, was likely to be, not a +joke, but the most serious catastrophe of his life. + +For Ruth Graham was going to leave the bungalow and Eastboro that +very day. He had begged to see her once more, and this day was his +last chance. He had written her, pleading to see her and receive +his answer. If he did not see her, if Seth did not return before +long and he remained where he was, a prisoner and invisible, the +last chance was gone. Ruth would believe he had repented of his +declaration as embodied in the fateful note, and had fled from her. +She had intimated that he was a coward in not seeing his fiancee and +telling her the truth. She did not like his writing that other girl +and running away. Now she would believe the cowardice was inherent, +because he had written her, also--and had run away. Horrible! + +Through the knothole he sent a yell for rescue. Another and +another. They were unheard--at least, no one emerged from the +bungalow. He sprang to his feet and made another circle of the +interior of the boathouse. Then he sank down upon the heap of nets +and again tried to think. He must get out. He must--somehow! + +The morning sunshine streamed through the little window and fell +directly upon the pile of newspapers he had brought from the kitchen +and thrown on the floor. His glance chanced to rest for an instant +upon the topmost paper of the pile. It was a New York journal which +devotes two of its inside pages to happenings in society. When he +threw it down it had unfolded so that one of these pages lay +uppermost. Absently, scarcely realizing that he was doing so, the +substitute assistant read as follows: + + +"Engagement in High Life Announced. Another American Girl to Wed a +Nobleman. Miss Ann Gardner Davidson to become the Baroness +Hardacre." + + +With a shout he fell upon his knees, seized the paper and read on: + + +"Another contemplated matrimonial alliance between one of New York's +fairest daughters and a scion of the English nobility was made +public yesterday. Miss Ann Gardner Davidson, of this city, the +breaking of whose engagement to Russell Agnew Brooks, son of George +Agnew Brooks, the wealthy cotton broker, was the sensation of the +early spring, is to marry Herbert Ainsworth-Ainsworth, Baron +Hardacre, of Hardacre Towers, Surrey on Kent, England. It was said +that the young lady broke off her former engagement with Young +Brooks because of--" + + +The prisoner in the boathouse read no further. Ruth Graham had said +to him the day before that, in her opinion, he had treated Ann +Davidson unfairly. He should have gone to her and told her of his +quarrel with his father. Although he did not care for Ann, she +might care for him. Might care enough to wait and . . . Wait? +Why, she cared so little that, within a few months, she was ready to +marry another man. And, if he owed her any debt of honor, no matter +how farfetched and fantastic, it was canceled now. He was +absolutely free. And he had been right all the time. He could +prove it. He would show Ruth Graham that paper and . . . + +His jaw set tight, and he rose from the heap of fish nets with the +folded paper clinched like a club in his hand. He was going to get +out of that boathouse if he had to butt a hole through its boards +with his head. + +Once more he climbed to the window and made an attempt to squeeze +through. It was futile, of course, but this time it seemed to him +that the sill and the plank to which it was attached gave a little. +He put the paper between his teeth, seized the sill with both hands, +braced his feet against a beam below, and jerked with all his +strength. Once--twice--three times! It was giving! It was pulling +loose! He landed on his back upon the nets, sill and a foot of +boarding in his hands. In exactly five seconds, the folded +newspaper jammed in his trousers pocket, he swung through the +opening and dropped to the narrow space between the building and the +end of the wharf. + +The space was a bare six inches wide. As he struck, his ankle +turned under him, he staggered, tried wildly to regain his balance, +and fell. As he fell he caught a glimpse of a blue-clad figure at +the top of the bluff before the bungalow. Then he went under with a +splash, and the eager tide had him in its grasp. + +When he came to the surface and shook the water from his eyes, he +was already some distance from the wharf. This, an indication of +the force of the tide, should have caused him to realize his danger +instantly. But it did not. His mind was intent upon the +accomplishment of one thing, namely, the proving to Ruth Graham, by +means of the item in the paper, that he was no longer under any +possible obligation to the Davidson girl. Therefore, his sole +feeling, as he came sputtering to the top of the water, was disgust +at his own clumsiness. It was when he tried to turn and swim back +to the wharf that he grasped the situation as it was. He could not +swim against that tide. + +There was no time to consider what was best to do. The breakers +were only five hundred yards off, and if he wished to live he must +keep out of their clutches. He began to swim diagonally across the +current, putting all his strength into each stroke. But for every +foot of progress toward the calmer water he was borne a yard toward +the breakers. + +The tide bubbled and gurgled about him. Miniature whirlpools tugged +at his legs, pulling him under. He fought nobly, setting his teeth +and swearing inwardly that he would make it, he would not give up, +he would not drown. But the edge of the tide rip was a long way +off, and he was growing tired already. Another whirlpool sucked him +down, and when he rose he shouted for help. It was an instinctive, +unreasoning appeal, almost sure to be useless, for who could hear +him?--but he shouted, nevertheless. + +And the shout was answered. From somewhere behind him--a long, long +distance, so it seemed to him--came the clear call in a woman's +voice. + +"All right! I'm coming. Keep on, just as you are." + +He kept on, or tried to. He swam--and swam--and swam. He went +under, rose, went under again, fought his way up, and kept on +swimming. Through the gurgle and hiss of the water, sounding dully +above the humming in his ears and the roar of the blood in his tired +brain, came the clear voice again: + +"Steady now! Just as you are! one more stroke! Now one more! +Quick! Quick! Now! Can you get aboard?" + +The wet, red side of a dory's bow pushed past his laboring shoulder. +A hand clutched his shirt collar. He reached up and grasped the +boat's gunwale, hung on with all his weight, threw one leg over the +edge, and tumbled into the dory's bottom. + +"Thanks," he panted, his eyes shut. "That--was--about the closest +call I--ever had. Hey? Why! RUTH!" + +She was panting, also, but she was not looking at him. She was +rowing with all her might, and gazing fearfully over her shoulder. +"Are you strong enough to help me row?" she asked breathlessly. "We +must head her away from here, out of this tide. And I'm afraid that +I can't do it alone." + +He raised his head and looked over the rail. The breakers were +alarmingly close. He scrambled to the thwart, pushed her aside and +seized the oars. She resisted. + +"Only one," she gasped. "I can manage the other." + +So, each with an oar, they fought the tide, and won--but by the +narrowest of margins. The dory edged into stiller and shoaler +water, crept out of the eddying channel over the flat where the +depth was but a scant four feet, turned almost by inches, and, at +last, slid up on the sandy beach below the bungalow. The girl sat +bowed over the handle of her oar, her breast heaving. She said +nothing. Her companion likewise said nothing. Staggering, he +stepped over the side, walked a few feet up the beach, and then +tumbled in an unconscious heap on the sand. + +He was not unconscious long, being a healthy and robust young +fellow. His first thought, upon opening his eyes, was that he must +close them again as quickly as possible because he wanted the dream +to continue. To lie with one's head in the lap of an angel, while +that angel strokes your forehead and cries over you and begs you for +her sake not to die, is too precious a delusion to lose. But the +opening of one's eyes is a mistake under such circumstances, and he +had made it. The angel's next remark was entirely unromantic and +practical. + +"Are you better?" she asked. "You're all right now, aren't you?" + +Her patient's reply was also a question, and irrelevant. + +"DO you care?" he asked faintly. + +"Are you better?" she asked in return. + +"Did you get my note? The note I put under the door?" + +"Answer me. Are you all right again?" + +"You answer ME. Did you get my note?" + +"Yes. . . . Don't try to get up. You're not strong enough yet. +You must wait here while I go and get you some--" + +"Don't go!" He almost shouted it. "If--if you do I'll--I'll--I +think I'm going to faint again." + +"Oh, no, you're not. And I must go and get you some brandy or +something. Stay just where you are." + +"Ruth Graham, if you go away now, I'll go with you, if I have to +crawl. Maybe I can't walk, but I swear I'll crawl after you on my +hands and knees unless you answer my question. DO you care enough +for me to wait?" + +She looked out at the little bay, at the narrow, wicked tide race, +at the breakers beyond. Then she looked down again at him. + +"Yes," she said. . . . "OH, are you going to faint again? Don't! +Please don't!" + +Russell Agnew Brooks, the late "John Brown," opened his eyes. "I am +not going to faint," he observed. "I was merely trying to realize +that I was fully conscious." + + +Some time after this--hours and minutes do not count in paradise--he +remembered the item in the paper. + +"By George!" he exclaimed, "I had something to show you. I'm afraid +I've lost it. Oh, no I here it is." + +He extracted from his trousers pocket the water soaked lump that had +been the New York newspaper. The page containing the sensational +announcement of the engagement in high life was quite undecipherable. +Being on the outside of the folded paper, it had rubbed to a pulpy +blur. However, he told her about it, and she agreed that his +judgment of the character of the future Baroness Hardacre had +been absolutely correct. + +"You were very wise," she said sagely. + +"Not so wise as I've become since," he asserted with decision. Then +he added, with a rather rueful smile, "I'm afraid, dear, people +won't say as much for you, when they know." + +"I'm satisfied." + +"You may have to wait all those years--and years--you spoke of." + +"I will." + +But she did not have to. For, at that moment, the miracle of wisdom +beside her sat up and pointed to the wet newspaper lying on the sand +at her feet. + +"Has my happiness affected my wits?" he demanded. "Or does salt +water bring on delusions? Aren't those my initials?" + +He was pointing to a paragraph in the "Personals" column of the New +York paper. This, being on one of the inner pages, had remained +comparatively dry and could be read. The particular "Personal" to +which he pointed was this: + + +"R. A. B." Wherever you are. This is to certify that I hereby +acknowledge that you have been absolutely correct in the A. D. +matter; witness news elsewhere. I was a fool, and I apologize +publicly. Incidentally I need a head like yours in my business. +Come back. Partnership awaiting you. Come back; and marry anybody +or nobody as you see fit. + +"FATHER." + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +WOMAN-HATERS + + +"But what," asked Ruth, as they entered the bungalow together, "has +happened to Mr. Atkins, do you think? You say he went away +yesterday noon and you haven't seen him or even heard from him +since. I should think he would be afraid to leave the lights for so +long a time. Has he ever done it before?" + +"No. And I'm certain he would not have done it this time of his own +accord. If he could have gotten back last night he would, storm or +no storm." + +"But last night was pretty bad. And," quite seriously, "of course +he knew that you were here, and so everything would be all right." + +"Oh, certainly," with sarcasm, "he would know that, of course. So +long as I am on deck, why come back at all? I'm afraid Atkins +doesn't share your faith in my transcendent ability, dear." + +"Well," Miss Graham tossed her head, "I imagine he knew he could +trust you to attend to his old lighthouses." + +"Perhaps. If so, his faith has developed wonderfully. He never has +trusted me even to light the lanterns. No, I'm afraid something has +happened--some accident. If the telephone was in working order I +could soon find out. As it is, I can only wait and try not to +worry. By the way, is your housekeeper--Mrs. What's-her-name--all +serene after her wet afternoon? When did she return?" + +"She hasn't returned. I expected her last evening--she said she +would be back before dark--but she didn't come. That didn't trouble +me; the storm was so severe that I suppose she stayed in the village +overnight." + +"So you were alone all through the gale. I wondered if you were; I +was tremendously anxious about you. And you weren't afraid? Did +you sleep?" + +"Not much. You see," she smiled oddly, "I received a letter before +I retired, and it was such an important--and surprising-- +communication that I couldn't go to sleep at once." + +"A letter? A letter last night? Who--What? You don't mean my +letter? The one I put under your door? You didn't get THAT last +night!" + +"Oh, yes, I did." + +"But how? The bungalow was as dark as a tomb. There wasn't a light +anywhere. I made sure of that before I came over." + +"I know. I put the light out, but I was sitting by the window in +the dark, looking out at the storm. Then I saw some one coming up +the hill, and it was you." + +"Then you saw me push it under the door?" + +"Yes. What made you stay on the step so long after you had pushed +it under?" + +"Me? . . . Oh," hastily, "I wanted to make sure it was--er--under. +And you found it and read it--then?" + +"Of course. I couldn't imagine what it could be, and I was curious, +naturally." + +"Ruth!" + +"I was." + +"Nonsense! You knew what it must be. Surely you did. Now, truly, +didn't you? Didn't you, dear?" + +"Why should I? . . . Oh, your sleeve is wet. You're soaking wet +from head to foot." + +"Well, I presume that was to be expected. This water out here is +remarkably damp, you know, and I was in it for some time. I should +have been in it yet if it hadn't been for you." + +"Don't!" with a shudder, "don't speak of it. When I saw you fall +into that tide I . . . But there! you mustn't stay here another +moment. Go home and put on dry things. Go at once!" + +"Dry things be hanged! I'm going to stay right here--and look at +you." + +"You're not. Besides, I am wet, too. And I haven't had my +breakfast." + +"Haven't you? Neither have I." He forgot that he had attempted to +have one. "But I don't care," he added recklessly. Then, with a +flash of inspiration, "Why can't we breakfast together? Invite me, +please." + +"No, I shall not. At least, not until you go back and change your +clothes." + +"To hear is to obey. 'I go, but I return,' as the fellow in the +play observes. I'll be back in just fifteen minutes." + +He was back in twelve, and, as to make the long detour about the +marshes would, he felt then, be a wicked waste of time and the +marshes themselves were covered with puddles left by the tide, his +"dry things" were far from dry when he arrived. But she did not +notice, and he was too happy to care, so it was all right. They got +breakfast together, and if the coffee had boiled too long and the +eggs not long enough, that was all right, also. + +They sat at opposite sides of the little table, and he needed +frequent reminding that eating was supposed to be the business on +hand. They talked of his father and of Ann Davidson--whom Ruth +declared was to be pitied--of the wonderful coincidence that that +particular paper, the one containing the "Personal" and the +"Engagement in High Life" item, should have been on top of the pile +in the boathouse, and--of other things. Occasionally the talk +lapsed, and the substitute assistant merely looked, looked and +smiled vacuously. When this happened Miss Graham smiled, also, and +blushed. Neither of them thought of looking out of the window. + +If they had not been so preoccupied, if they had looked out of that +window, they would have seen a horse and buggy approaching over the +dunes. Seth and Mrs. Bascom were on the buggy seat, and the +lightkeeper was driving with one hand. The equipage had been hired +at the Eastboro livery stable. Joshua was undergoing repairs and +enjoying a much-needed rest at the blacksmith shop in the village. + +As they drew near the lights, Seth sighed contentedly. + +"Well, Emeline," he observed, "here we be, safe and sound. Home +again! Yes, sir, by jiminy crimps, HOME! And you ain't goin' to +Boston to-day, neither." + +Mrs. Bascom, the practical, moved toward the edge of the seat. + +"Take your arm away, Seth," she cautioned. "They'll see you." + +"Who'll see me? What do I care who sees me? Ain't a man got a +right to put his arm around his own wife, I'd like to know?" + +"Humph! Well, all right. I can stand it if you can. Only I +cal'late your young Brown man is in for somethin' of a shock, that's +all. HE don't know that I'm your wife." + +Seth removed his arm. His expression changed. + +"That's so," he admitted. "He will be set back three or four rows, +won't he?" + +"I shouldn't wonder. He'll think your woman-hate has had a relapse, +I guess." + +The lightkeeper looked troubled; then he nodded grimly. + +"His ain't what you'd call a desp'rate case," he declared. "Judgin' +by what I've seen in the cove for the last month, he's gettin' +better of it fast. I ain't no worse than he is, by time! . . . +Wonder where he is! This place looks deader'n the doleful tombs." + +He hitched the horse to the back fence and assisted his wife to +alight from the buggy. They entered the kitchen. No one was there, +and Seth's hurried search of the other rooms resulted in finding +them untenanted likewise. + +"Maybe he's out in one of the lights," he said. "wait here, +Emeline, and I'll go see." + +But she would not wait. "I'm goin' right over to the bungalow," she +said. "I'm worried about Miss Ruth. She was alone all last night, +and I sha'n't rest easy till I know nothin's happened to her. You +can come when you find your young man. You and me have got +somethin' to tell 'em, and we might as well get the tellin' done as +soon as possible. Nothin's ever gained by putting off a mean job. +Unless, of course," she added, looking at him out of the corners of +her eyes, "you want to back out, Seth. It ain't too late even now, +you know." + +He stared at her. "Back out!" he repeated; "back out! Emeline +Bascom, what are you talkin' about? You go to that bungalow and go +in a hurry. Don't stop to talk! go! Who's runnin' this craft? +Who's the man in this family--you or me?" + +She laughed. "You seem to be, Seth," she answered, "just now." + +"I am. I've been a consider'ble spell learnin' how to be, but I've +learned. You trot right along." + +Brown was in neither of the light towers, and Seth began to be +worried about him. He descended to the yard and stood there, +wondering what on earth could have happened. Then, looking across +the cove, he became aware that his wife was standing on the edge of +the bluff, making signals with both hands. + +He opened his mouth to shout a question, but she frantically +signaled for silence. Then she beckoned. He ran down the path at +full speed. She met him at the other side of the cove. + +"Come here!" she whispered. "Don't say a word, but just come--and +look." + +He followed her, crept close to the bungalow window and peeped in. +His helper, "John Brown," and Miss Ruth Graham were seated at the +table. Also the substitute assistant was leaning across that table +with the young lady's hand in his; the pair were entirely oblivious +of anything in the world except each other. + +A few moments later a thunderous knock shook the bungalow door. The +knock was not answered immediately; therefore, Seth opened the door +himself. Miss Graham and the lightkeeper's helper were standing +some distance apart; they gazed speechlessly at the couple who now +entered the room. + +"Well," observed Seth, with sarcasm, "anybody got anything to say? +You," turning to the young man, "seems to me you ought to say +SOMETHIN'. Considerin' a little agreement you and me had, I should +imagine I was entitled to some triflin' explanation. What are you +doin' over here--with HER? Brown--" + +The young gentleman came to himself with a start. He walked across +to where Miss Graham was standing, and once more took her hand. + +"My name is not Brown," he said firmly. "It is Brooks; and this is +the young lady I am to marry." + +He naturally expected his superior to be surprised. As a matter of +fact, he was the surprised party. Seth reached out, drew the +bungalow housekeeper toward him, and put his arm about her waist. +Then he smiled; and the smile was expressive of pride, triumph, and +satisfaction absolute. + +"ATKINS!" gasped Brooks. + +"My name ain't Atkins," was the astonishing reply; "it's Bascom. +And this," indicating by a tightening of his arm the blushing person +at his side, "is the lady I married over five year ago." + + +After the stories had been told, after both sides had told theirs +and explained and been exclaimed over and congratulated, after the +very last question had been asked and answered, Brown--or Brooks-- +asked one more. + +"But this other fellow," he queried, "this brother-in-law-- By +George, it is perfectly marvelous, this whole business!--where is +he? What has become of him?" + +Seth chuckled. "Bennie D.?" he said. "Well, Bennie D. is leavin' +Eastboro on the noon train. I paid his fare and give him fifty +dollars to boot. He's goin' somewhere, but he ain't sartin where. +If you asked me, I should say that, in the end, he'd most likely +have to go where he's never been afore, so far's I ever heard-- +that's to work. Now--seein' as the important business has been +talked over and settled--maybe you'll tell me about the lights, and +how you got along last night." + +But the lighthouse subject was destined to be postponed for a few +minutes. The person in whose care the Lights had been left during +the past twenty hours or so looked at the speaker, then at the other +persons present, and suddenly began to laugh. + +"What are you laughing at?" asked Miss Graham. "Why, Russell, what +is it?" + +Russell Agnew Brooks, alias "John Brown," ex-substitute assistant at +Eastboro Twin-Lights, sank into a chair, shaking from head to heel. + +"It is hysterics," cried Ruth, hastening to his side. "No wonder, +poor dear, considering what he has been through. Hush, Russell! +don't, you frighten me. What IS it?" + +Her fiance waved a reassuring hand. "It--it's all right," he +gasped. "I was just laughing at . . . Oh," pointing an unsteady +finger at the lightkeeper, "ask him; he knows." + +"Ask him?" repeated the bewildered young lady. "Why, Mr. Atkins-- +Bascom, I mean--what. . . ." + +And then Seth began to laugh. Leaning against the doorpost, he at +first chuckled and then roared. + +"Seth!" cried his wife. "Seth, you old idiot! Why, I never see two +such loons in my life! Seth, answer me! What are you two laughin' +at?" + +Seth Atkins Bascom wiped the tears from his eyes. "I cal'late," he +panted, "I rather guess--Ho, ho!--I rather guess we're both laughin' +at woman-haters." + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext The Woman-Haters, by Joseph C. Lincoln + |