e
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