dear," Sylvester promised quietly.

She looked at him with faint hope.

"Yes'm, dish-washing's dead."

"But what can I do, then?"

Hudson nodded his head slowly, or, rather, he sawed the air up and down
with his chin. He was still looking at the ceiling so that Sheila could
see only the triangle beneath his jaw and the dark, stringy neck above
his collar.

"I've got a job for you, girl--a real one."

He pulled out his cigar and sat up. "You remember what I told you the
other night?"

"About my being a--a--beacon?" Sheila's voice was delicately tinged with
mockery. So was her doubtful smile.

"Yes'm," he said seriously. "Well, that's it."

"What does a beacon do?" she asked.

"It burns. It shines. It looks bright. It wears the neatest little black
dress with a frilly apron and deep frilly cuffs. Say, do you recollect
something else I told you?"

"I remember everything you told me."

"Well, ma'am, I remember everything you told _me_. Somebody said she
was grateful. Somebody said she'd do anything for Pap. Somebody
said--'Try me.'"

"I meant it, Mr. Hudson. I did mean it."

"Do you mean it now?"

"Yes. I--I owe you so much. You're always so very kind to me. And I
behave very badly. I was hateful to you this evening. And, when you came
to my door, just now, I was--I was _scared_."

Pap opened his eyes at her, held his cigar away from him and laughed.
The laugh was both bitter and amused.

"Scared of Pap Hudson? _You_ scared? But, look-a-here, girl, what've I
done to deserve that?"

He sat forward, rested his chin in his hand, supported by an elbow on his
crossed knees and fixed her with gentle and reproachful eyes.

"Honest, you kind of make me feel bad, Miss Sheila."

"I am dreadfully sorry. It was horrid of me. I only told you because I
wanted you to know that I'm not worth helping. I don't deserve you to be
so kind to me. I--I must be disgustingly suspicious."

"Well!" Sylvester sighed. "Very few folks get me. I'm kind of
mis-understood. I'm a real lonesome sort of man. But, honest, Miss
Sheila, I thought you were my friend. I don't mind telling you, you've
hurt my feelings. That shot kind of got me. It's stuck into me."

"I'm horrid!" Sheila's eyes were wounded with remorse.

"Oh, well, I'm not expecting understanding any more."

"Oh, but I do--I do understand!" she said eagerly and she put her hand
shyly on his arm. "I think I do understand you. I'm very grateful. I'm
very fond of you."