hey 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, a