The Department of Marine and Fisheries sent down an expert from Quebec
to keep the light in order and run it for the first summer. He
took Fortin as his assistant. By the end of August he reported to
headquarters that the light was all right, and that Fortin was qualified
to be appointed keeper. Before October was out the certificate of
appointment came back, and the expert packed his bag to go up the river.

"Now look here, Fortin," said he, "this is no fishing trip. Do you think
you are up to this job?"

"I suppose," said Fortin.

"Well now, do you remember all this business about the machinery that
turns the lenses? That 's the main thing. The bearings must be kept well
oiled, and the weight must never get out of order. The clock-face will
tell you when it is running right. If anything gets hitched up here's
the crank to keep it going until you can straighten the machine again.
It's easy enough to turn it. But you must never let it stop between dark
and daylight. The regular turn once a minute--that's the mark of this
light. If it shines steady it might as well be out. Yes, better! Any
vessel coming along here in a dirty night and seeing a fixed light would
take it for the Cap Loup-Marin and run ashore. This particular light has
got to revolve once a minute every night from April first to December
tenth, certain. Can you do it?"

"Certain," said Fortin.

"That's the way I like to hear a man talk! Now, you've got oil enough to
last you through till the tenth of December, when you close the light,
and to run on for a month in the spring after you open again. The ice
may be late in going out and perhaps the supply-boat can't get down
before the middle of April, or thereabouts. But she'll bring plenty of
oil when she comes, so you'll be all right."

"All right," said Fortin.

"Well, I've said it all, I guess. You understand what you've got to do?
Good-by and good luck. You're the keeper of the light now."

"Good luck," said Fortin, "I am going to keep it." The same day he shut
up the red house on the beach and moved to the white house on the island
with Marie-Anne, his wife, and the three girls, Alma, aged seventeen,
Azilda, aged fifteen, and Nataline, aged thirteen. He was the captain,
and Marie-Anne was the mate, and the three girls were the crew. They
were all as full of happy pride as if they had come into possession of a
great fortune.

It was the thirty-first day of October. A snow-shower had silvered th