s, and
longing to tell Jack about Aunt Betsey's latest.

But they found Jack having an animated discussion with his father, his
thoughts on business plans intent.

Cynthia anxiously surveyed the two, and she feared from appearances that
Mr. Franklin did not intend to yield.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

LIFE IN A LIGHT-HOUSE.

BY A. J. ENSIGN.

A cold biting west wind was blowing. The sea close under the beach was
smooth and steel blue, and the breakers reared their white crests
slowly, falling in dull booms of muttered thunder. Beyond the rollers a
wide expanse of ice-hard gray water swept away to the iron line of the
horizon, where strange shapes of writhing billows tossed against the
glow of the rising moon. Half a dozen stars of the first magnitude swam
in moisture in the zenith, and far away in the west a smudge of black
cloud, touched on its lower edge with blood red, kept the record of the
swift winter sunset.

"It will blow from the south'ard and east'ard afore mornin', an' it'll
snow," said the light-house keeper, as he peered out into the growing
gloom, pierced as it was by the rays of the lamp which he had set
burning half an hour before.

"Ay," said his assistant, "an' we'll have fog, too, I'm thinkin'."

"Well, get steam up for the siren, an' stan' by fur trouble afore dawn."

The predictions of both men came true. Before two o'clock in the morning
the wind had shifted to the southeast, and was blowing a gale. Great
tangled masses of brown cloud were flying across the sky at terrific
speed, and in and out of the rifts shot the red moon flaming like a
comet. The breakers no longer reared and fell slowly, but hurled
themselves in shrieking masses of foam upon the stricken beach. A
yelling as of ten thousand evil spirits surrounded the caged lantern;
but the great yellow light blazed out its warning upon the black waters.
But not for long; for out of the southeast swept the impenetrable gray
fog that no light could pierce. Then the hoarse moaning blast of the
steam-siren sent its cry of warning out over the raging waters. At four
o'clock the gale was terrific, and ever and anon the shriek of a
steam-whistle told that some vessel was groping her way toward the
entrance to the harbor. Suddenly the whistle burst into a series of
rapid screams.

"Wake up, Tom!" shouted the assistant keeper, who was on watch. "There's
a tug out yonder that's parted the hawser of her tow."

The keeper sprang to his fe