it too well to give it up to anybody; don't
we, doggie dear? We will succeed to ourselves!" And she did succeed
to herself, being finally made keeper of the light by special act of
Congress--the appointment being conferred upon her in 1879 by General
Sherman as a compliment to her ability and bravery; doubtless because
of the recommendation of those fishermen and seamen whose respect for
the brave girl was great and who did not wish the government to remove
her. In any case, she was chosen for the responsible position as
successor to her father, and to herself, as she quaintly put it, and
more and more she became devoted to every stone of the small
promontory, and to every smallest duty in connection with her work and
her island home.

Winter and summer passed in the regular routine of her daily duties as
keeper of the light, and every time she lighted the big lamp whose
beams shone out over the waters with such comforting gleams for
watching mariners she was filled with assurance that hers was the
greatest and most interesting mission in the world.

Winter came with its howling winds and frozen bay. A terrific storm
was blowing from the north; snow was driving from every direction and
it was hardly possible to stand on one's feet because of the fury of
the gale. Ida lighted her beacon of warning to ships at sea, and
rejoiced as she saw its glowing rays flash out over the turbulent
waters. Then she went down into the cozy kitchen and speedily ate a
simple supper prepared by her mother. How the wind shrieked around the
little house on the island! Ida hastily raised the curtain, to see how
heavily it was storming, and she gave an exclamation of surprise; then
ran up the spiral stairway to the tower, where in the rays of the
steady light she could see more clearly. Far out on the waves, beyond
the frozen surface of the inner bay, she saw a light skiff bobbing up
and down, the toy of wind and wave; in it by the aid of her powerful
glass she could see a stiff, still figure. A man had been overcome by
the cold--he would die if he were not rescued at once. Quick as a
flash she was down-stairs, in the boat-house, had pulled out the boat,
although it was a hard task in such a storm even for one as strong as
she, and soon was on her way across that part of the bay which was not
frozen. Up and down on the storm-tossed waves her craft tossed, now
righting itself, now almost submerged--but Ida pulled on with strong
sure strokes,