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