eful
thought. Janet!"

"Yes, Susan."

"I wish you'd go up int' the Light after you've cleared the settin'
room, an' tell Davy good night! I forgot t' say it when he started up.
We'd had some difference 'bout money; least, Davy had, I never have any
different idee about it. It's him as changes. Go get the box, Janet, an'
put it under the bed. If it wasn't fur me, I guess Davy would know!"

It was after sunset, when Janet, hearing Susan Jane's even breathing,
felt herself free. She stretched her arms above her head and so eased
the tension. The manner of bearing life's burdens by the people of the
dunes was but an acquired talent with her. The first and natural impulse
of the girl's nature was to cry out against care and trouble, to make a
noise, and act! It was second nature only that had taught her to assume
silently and bear secretly whatever of unpleasantness life presented.

"Oh! Cap'n Daddy," she had once cried to Billy, when something had
stirred her childish depths, "why don't we yell, and kick and scare it
off?"

"'T ain't sensible with them as lives near the sea, Janet," Billy had
calmly returned. "The sea teaches a powerful pinted lesson 'long o' them
lines. Troubles is like the sea. When they is the worst, they do all the
shoutin' an' roarin' themselves, an' ye jest might as well pull in yer
sail an' lie low. When they is past, an' the calm sets in, 't is plain
shallowness t' use yerself up then. Folks in cities don't learn this
lesson; they ain't got no such teacher, an' that's why they wear out
sooner, an' have that onsettled air. They think noise an' bustle o'
their makin' can do away with troubles, but it can't, Janet. So like as
not, the sooner ye learn, the better."

Janet thought of this hard lesson now as she stretched her strong young
body, and quelled the rebellious cry upon her lips.

"I'll go up and bid Davy good night," she whispered half aloud. Then
lower: "Good night, my Cap'n Daddy! You've reached the dunes safely, but
you'll have to own up some day!" She waved in the direction of the
Station.

"How dark the water looks!" she suddenly cried; "stars in plenty--where
is Davy's Light?"

White and fear-filled, she sprang toward the stairs and ran lightly
upward. Slower she went, after the third landing; anxiety, added to
weariness, stayed the eager feet. If the Light were not burning, what
then? Just below the lamp and gallery was a tiny room with a table,
chair, small stove, and little