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