ght as an Indian's."

"A woman alone in a lighthouse! isn't that great?" cried Helen.

"She is alone sometimes; but there is an assistant keeper. His name is
Crab--and that's what he is!" declared Heavy.

"Oh, I can see right now that we're going to have great fun here,"
observed Madge.

This final conversation was carried on after the girls had run into the
house for shelter from a sharp gust of rain, and had been taken upstairs
by their hostess to the two big rooms in the front of the bungalow which
they were to sleep in. From the windows they could see across the cove
to the village and note all the fishing and pleasure boats bobbing at
their moorings.

Right below them was a long dock built out from Mr. Stone's
property, and behind it was moored a motor-launch, a catboat, and two
rowboats--quite a little fleet.

"You see, there isn't a sail in the harbor--nor outside. That shows
that the storm now blowing up is bound to be a stiff one," explained
Heavy. "For the fishermen of Sokennet are as daring as any on the coast,
and I have often seen them run out to the banks into what looked to be
the very teeth of a gale!"

Meanwhile, the boys had been shown to a good-sized room at the back of
the house, and they were already down again and outside, breasting the
intermittent squalls from the sea. They had no curls and furbelows to
arrange, and ran all about the place before dinner time.

But ere that time arrived the night had shut down. The storm clouds
hung low and threatened a heavy rainfall at any moment. Off on the
horizon was a livid streak which seemed to divide the heavy ocean from
the wind-thrashed clouds.

The company that gathered about the dinner table was a lively one,
even if the wind did shriek outside and the thunder of the surf kept
up a continual accompaniment to their conversation--like the deeper
notes of a mighty organ. Mr. Stone, himself, was not present; but one of
Heavy's young aunts had come down to oversee the party, and she was
no wet blanket upon the fun.

Of course, the "goodies" on the table were many. Trust Heavy for that.
The old black cook, who had been in the Stone family for a generation,
doted on the stout girl and would cook all day to please her young
mistress.

They had come to the dessert course when suddenly Tom Cameron half
started from his chair and held up a hand for silence.

"What's the matter, Tommy?" demanded Busy Izzy, inquisitively. "What
do you hear?"

"Li