d somewhere, though, and I'm going to find it if the light lasts
long enough." He started once more and had not gone ten rods ere he came
to one, and then he breathed easier. His clothes were torn, his hands
and face scratched by briers, and to save himself he couldn't make it
seem but that the sun was setting in the east! He sat down to think. All
sound of the ocean was gone and a stillness that seemed to crawl out of
the thicket was around him. He rested a few moments more, and then
suddenly heard the sound of wheels and presently saw, coming around the
curve, an old-fashioned carryall, worn and muddy, and, driving the horse
at a jog trot, a man as dilapidated-looking as the vehicle. Gladdened
at the sight, he arose, and holding up his hand as a signal, halted the
team. "Excuse me, sir," he said to the man, who eyed him curiously, "but
will you tell me where I am?"

"Wal," was the answer in a slow drawl, "ye'r' on Southport Island, and
'bout four miles from the jumpin' off place. Whar might ye be goin'? Ye
look bushed."

"I am," answered Page, "and badly bushed too. I lost my boat over back
here on the shore, and have had a cheerful time among the Mohawk briers.
I belong to a yacht that is anchored in a cove of this island, I can't
tell where, and if you will take me to her I'll pay you well."

The man in the wagon laughed.

"Say, stranger," he observed with a chuckle, "you 'mind me o' the feller
that got full and wandered round for a spell till he fetched up to a
house, an' sed to the man that cum to the door, 'If you will tell me who
I am, or whar I am, or whar I want ter go, I'll give ye a dollar!'"

Page had to laugh in spite of his plight, for the humorous twinkle in
the old man's eyes as he uttered his joke was infectious.

"I'd like ter 'commodate ye," he added, "but as I'm carryin' Uncle Sam's
mail, an' must git home an' tend the light, and as ye don't know whar
ye want ter go, ye best jump in an' go down to Saint's Rest, whar I
live, an' in the mornin' we'll try an' hunt up yer boat."

It seemed the only thing to do, and Albert availed himself of the
chance.

"Can you tell the spot where you found me?" he said to the man as they
started on. "I'd like to go back there to-morrow and find my cushions."

"Wal," was the answer, "as I've druv over this road twice a day for nigh
onto thirty year, I'm tolerable familiar with it. My name's Terry, an'
I'm keeper o' the light at the Cape, an' carry the mail to