g 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