"I thought," she said, "when I see you standin' over there by the lights, that you must be one of the keepers. Not the head keeper--I knew you wa'n't him--but an assistant, maybe. But I guess you're only a visitor, Mister--Mister--?"

"Brown."

"Yes, Mr. Brown. I guess you ain't no keeper, are you?"

"I am the assistant keeper at present. Yes."

"You don't say!" Mrs. Bascom looked surprised. So, too, did Miss Graham. "You don't look like a lighthouse keeper," continued the former. "Oh, I don't mean your clothes!" noticing the young man's embarrassed glance at his wet and far from immaculate garments. "I mean the way you talk and act. You ain't been here long, have you?"

"No."

"Just come this summer?"

"Yes."

"I thought so. You ain't a Cape Codder?"

"No."

"I was sure you wa'n't. Where DO you come from?"

Brown hesitated. Miss Graham, noticing his hesitation, hastened to end the inquisition.

"Mr. Brown can't stop to answer questions, Mrs. Bascom," she said. "I'm sure he wants to get back to his work. Good morning, Mr. Brown. No doubt we shall see each other often, being the only neighbors in sight. Call again--do. I solemnly promise that you shall have to fight no more wasps."

"Say!" The stout woman took a step forward. "Speakin' of wasps . . . stand still a minute, Mr. Brown, won't you. What's them lumps on your forehead? Why, I do believe you've been bit. You have, sure and sartin!"

Miss Graham was very much concerned. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed; "I hope not. Let me see."

"No, indeed!" The assistant was on the step by this time and moving rapidly. "Nothing at all. No consequence. Good morning."

He almost ran down the hill and crossed the creek at the wading place. As he splashed through, the voice of the housekeeper reached his ears.

"Cold mud's the best thing," she screamed. "Put it on thick. It takes out the smart. Good and thick, mind!"

For the next hour or two the lightkeeper's helper moved about his household tasks in a curious frame of mind. He was thoroughly angry--or thought he was--and very much disturbed. Neighbors of any kind were likely to be a confounded nuisance, but two women! Heavens! And the stout woman was sure to be running in for calls and to borrow things. As for the other, she seemed a nice girl enough, but he never wanted to see another girl, nice or otherwise. Her eyes were pretty, so was her hair, but what of it? Oh, hang the luck! Just here he banged his swollen forehead on the sharp edge of the door, and found relief in profanity.

Seth Atkins was profane, also, when he heard the news. Brown said nothing until his superior discovered with his own eyes that the bungalow was open. Then, in answer to the lightkeeper's questions, came the disclosure of the truth.

"Women!" roared Seth. "You say there's two WOMEN goin' to live there? By Judas! I don't believe it!"

"Go and see for yourself, then," was the brusque answer.

"I sha'n't, neither. Who told you?"

"They did."

"They DID? Was you there?"

"Yes."

"What for? I thought you swore never to go nigh a woman again."

"I did, but--well, it wasn't my fault. I--"

"Yes? Go on."

"I went because I couldn't help myself. Went to help some one else, in fact. I expected to find Graham and that other artist. But--"

"Well, go ON."

"I was stung," said Mr. Brown, gloomily, and rubbed his forehead.

CHAPTER IX

THE BUNGALOW GIRL

During the following day the occupants of the lightkeeper's dwelling saw little or nothing of the newcomers at the bungalow. Brown, his forehead resembling a section of a relief map of the Rocky Mountains, remained indoors as much as possible, working when there was anything to do, and reading back-number magazines when there was not. Seth went, as usual, to his room soon after noon. His slumbers must, however, have been fitful ones, for several times the substitute assistant, turning quickly, saw the bedroom door swing silently shut. The third time that this happened he ran to the door and threw it open in season to catch Mr. Atkins in an undignified dive for the bed. A tremendous snore followed the dive. The young man regarded him in silence for a few moments, during which the snores continued. Then he shook his head.

"Humph!" he soliloquized; "I must 'phone for the doctor at once. Either the doctor or the superintendent. If he has developed that habit, he isn't fit for this job."

He turned away. The slumberer stirred uneasily, rolled over, opened one eye, and sat up.

"Hi!" he called. "Come back here! Where you goin'?"

Brown returned, looking surprised and anxious.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, "are you awake?"

"Course I'm awake! What a fool question that is. Think I'm settin' up here and talkin' in my sleep?"

"Well, I didn't know."

"Why didn't you know? And, see here! what did you mean by sayin' you was goin' to 'phone the doctor or the superintendent, one or t'other? Yes, you said it. I heard you."

"Oh, no! you didn't."

"Tell you I did. Heard you with my own ears."

"But how could you? You weren't awake."

"Course I was awake! Couldn't have heard you unless I was, could I? What ails you? Them stings go clear through to your brains, did they?"

Again Brown shook his head.

"This is dreadful!" he murmured. "He walks in his sleep, and snores when he's awake. I MUST call the doctor."

"What--what--" The lightkeeper's wrath was interfering with his utterance. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sputtered incoherently.

"Be calm, Atkins," coaxed the assistant. "Don't complicate your diseases by adding heart trouble. Three times today I've caught you peeping at me through the crack of that door. Within fifteen seconds of the last peep I find you snoring. Therefore, I say--"

"Aw, belay! I was only--only just lookin' out to see what time it was."

"But you must have done it in your sleep, because--"

"I never. I was wide awake as you be."

"But why did you snore? You couldn't have fallen asleep between the door and the bed. And you hadn't quite reached the bed when I got here."

"I--I--I--Aw, shut up!"

Brown smiled blandly. "I will," he said, "provided you promise to keep this door shut and don't do any more spying."

"Spyin'? What do you mean by that?"

"Just what I said. You and I had a discussion concerning that same practice when I fell over the bank at the Slough a while ago. I was not spying then, but you thought I was, and you didn't like it. Now I think you are, and I don't like it."

"Wh--what--what would I be spyin' on you for? Wh--what reason would I have for doin' it?"

"No good reason; because I have no intention of visiting our new neighbors--none whatever. That being understood, perhaps you'll shut the door and keep it shut."

Seth looked sheepish and guilty.

"Well," he said, after a moment's reflection, "I beg your pardon. But I couldn't help feelin' kind of uneasy. I--I ought to know better, I s'pose; but, with a young, good-lookin' girl landed unexpected right next to us, I--I--"