Coast Guard. The big round pot stove was obviously the
most conspicuous thing in the room, and beside it such furniture as the
long table with its faded red cover, the big wooden chairs, with
bindings of wires and telegraph glasses for castors (rheumatic cures, we
recall), all these articles fell into the shadows of that big round
stove, with its new coat of shiny black iron paint.

"Captain Dave!" called Grace, after looking about for the host. "Are you
in?"

"Sure thing, I'm in, right here, comin'," returned a voice which
preceded the figure of Captain Dave.

"Good morning, Captain," Grace greeted him. "This is my chum, Cleo
Harris, you remember I spoke of her. We are all Girl Scouts, you know,"
as he eyed the uniform and both girls raised their hand in salute.
"Maybe you can give us something to do with all of your life lines, and
buoys and such things. We don't know much about life saving on the deep,
although we have tried it on dry land," said Grace.

"Welcome," said the old sailor simply. "We don't have hard work this
time of the year, but we need the rest after winter. This was a heavy
one. More storms than in thirty years," he declared, pulling out two of
the heavy wooden chairs, running his hand over them to make sure they
were free from dust, then indicating the girls should make themselves
comfortable, while he proceeded to occupy a still larger chair that
commanded a view of the sea from the broad window.

"Captain, what do you think of all those small fires we hear folks
talking about?" asked Grace in her direct way. "Do you suppose some
mischievous boys are starting them?"

The captain turned his head to the direction in which he was emitting
his clouds of smoke, paused for a minute, then shook his head.

"I dunno," he replied. "I know most of the youngsters around here, and
I've never known them to do a thing like that. There was seven good hens
burned in that little fire last night, and old Dick Malloney has to
depend on selling eggs to get his coffee. It's a shame!" and he allowed
his heavy chair to spring forward with a pronounced thud.

"We have only been down a week," remarked Cleo, "but I have noticed
smoke almost every morning out in those woods over the river. I suppose
some one lives that way, do they?"

"You mean on the island," he explained. "That's Weasle Point, sticks out
into the bay and just west is the island; not more than a clump of trees
on a few rocks, but big enough to sta