don't try to talk. Let your tongue rest and give your feet a chance."

The climbing of the steep bluff was a struggle, but they accomplished it, and at length the stranger was seated in a chair in the kitchen.

"Now, the fust thing," observed Seth, "is to get them wet clothes off you. Usually I'd have a good fire here, but that miserable Ezry has--that is, my assistant's left me, and I have to go it alone, as you might say. So we'll get you to bed and . . . No, you can't undress yourself, neither. Set still, and I'll have you peeled in a jiffy."

His guest was making feeble efforts to remove his socks. Atkins pushed him back into the chair and stripped the blue and dripping rags from feet which were almost as blue from cold. The castaway attempted a weak resistance, but gave it up and said, with a whimsical smile:

"I'm mightily obliged to you. I never realized before that a valet was such a blessing. Most of mine have been confounded nuisances."

"Hey?" queried Seth, looking up.

"Nothing. Pardon me for comparing you with a valet."

"Land sakes! I don't care what you call me. I was out of my head once myself--typhoid fever 'twas--and they say the things I called the doctor was somethin' scandalous. You ain't responsible. You're beat out, and your brain's weak, like the rest of you. Now hold on till I get you a nightgown."

He started for the bedroom. The young man seemed a bit troubled.

"Just a minute," he observed. "Don't you think I had better move to a less conspicuous apartment? The door is open, and if any of your neighbors should happen by--any ladies, for instance, I--"

"Ladies!" Mr. Atkins regarded him frowningly. "In the fust place, there ain't a neighbor nigher'n four miles; and, in the next, I'd have you understand no women come to this house. If you knew me better, young feller, you'd know that. Set where you be."

The nightshirt was one of the lightkeeper's own, and, although Seth was a good-sized man, it fitted the castaway almost too tightly for comfort. However, it was dry and warm and, by leaving a button or two unfastened at the neck, answered the purpose well enough. The stranger was piloted to the bedroom, assisted into the depths of a feather bed, and covered with several layers of blankets and patchwork quilts.

"There!" observed Seth, contentedly, "now you go to sleep. If you get to sweatin', so much the better. 'Twill get some of that cold water out of you. So long!"

He departed, closing the door after him. Then he built a fire in the range, got breakfast, ate it, washed the dishes and continued his forenoon's work. Not a sound from the bedroom. Evidently the strange arrival had taken the advice concerning going to sleep. But all the time he was washing dishes, rubbing brass work or sweeping, Mr. Atkins's mind was busy with the puzzle which fate had handed him. Occasionally he chuckled, and often he shook his head. He could make nothing out of it. One thing only was certain--he had never before met a human being exactly like this specimen.

It was half past twelve before there were signs of life in the bedroom. Seth was setting the table for dinner, when the door of the room opened a little way, and a voice said:

"I say, are you there?"

"I be. What do you want?"

"Would you mind telling me what you've done with my clothes?"

"Not a bit. I've got 'em out on the line, and they ain't dry yet. If you'll look on the chair by the sou'west window you'll find a rig-out of mine. I'm afraid 'twill fit you too quick--you're such an elephant--but I'll risk it if you will."

Apparently the stranger was willing to risk it, for in a few moments he appeared, dressed in the Atkins Sunday suit of blue cloth, and with Seth's pet carpet slippers on his feet.

"Hello!" was the lightkeeper's greeting. "How you feelin'?-- better?"

"Tip top, thank you. Where do you wash, when it's necessary?"

"Basin right there in the sink. Soap in the becket over top of it. Roller towel on the closet door. Ain't you had water enough for a spell?"

"Not fresh water, thank you. I'm caked with salt from head to foot."

"Does make a feller feel like a split herrin', if he ain't used to it. Think you can eat anything?"

"Can I?" The response was enthusiastic. "You watch me! My last meal was yesterday noon."

"Yesterday NOON! Didn't you eat no supper?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Well, I--well, to be frank, because I hadn't the price. It took my last cent to pay my fare on that blessed steamer."

"Great land of love! What time was it when you fell overboard?"

"Oh, I don't know. Two o'clock, perhaps."

"Two o'clock! What was you doin' up at two o'clock? Why wasn't you in your stateroom asleep?"

"I hadn't any stateroom. Staterooms cost money."

"My soul! And you swum three hours on an empty stomach?"

"Not altogether. Part of it on my back. But, if you'll excuse familiarity on short acquaintance, those things you're cooking smell good to me."

"Them's clam fritters, and, if YOU'LL excuse my sayin' so that shouldn't, they ARE good. Set down and fill up."

The visitor ate nine of the fritters, a slice of dried-apple pie, and drank two cups of coffee. Seth, between intervals of frying and eating, watched him with tremendous curiosity and as much patience as he could muster. When the pie was finished he asked the first of the questions with which he had been bursting all the forenoon.

"Tell me," he said, "how'd you come to fall overboard?"

"I'm not very certain just how it happened. I remember leaning over the rail and watching the waves. Then I was very dizzy all at once. The next thing I knew I was in the water."

"Dizzy, hey? Seasick, may be."

"I guess not. I'm a pretty good sailor. I'm inclined to think the cause was that empty stomach you mentioned."

"Um-hm. You didn't have no supper. Still, you ate the noon afore."

"Not much. Only a sandwich."

"A sandwich! What did you have for breakfast?"

"Well, the fact is, I overslept and decided to omit the breakfast."

"Gosh! no wonder you got dizzy. If I went without meals for a whole day I cal'late I'd be worse than dizzy. What did you do when you found yourself in the water?"

"Yelled at first, but no one heard me. Then I saw some lights off in this direction and started to swim for them. I made the shore finally, but I was so used up that I don't remember anything after the landing. Think I took a nap."

"I presume likely. Wonder 'twasn't your everlastin' nap! Tut! tut! tut! Think of it!"

"I don't want to, thank you. It isn't pleasant enough to think of. I'm here and--by the way, where IS here?"

"This is Eastboro township--Eastboro, Cape Cod. Them lights out there are Eastboro Twin-Lights. I'm the keeper of 'em. My name's Atkins, Seth Atkins."

"Delighted to meet you, Mr. Atkins. And tremendously obliged to you, besides."

"You needn't be. I ain't done nothin'. Let me see, you said your name was--"

"Did I?" The young man seemed startled, almost alarmed. "When?"

Seth was embarrassed, but not much. "Well," he admitted, "I don't know's you did say it, come to think of it. What IS your name?"

"My name?"

"Yes."

"Oh, why--my name is Brown--er--John Brown. Not the gentleman who was hanged, of course; distant relative, that's all."

"Hum! John Brown, hey? What steamer did you fall off of?"

"Why--why--I can't seem to remember. That's odd, isn't it?"

"Yes, I should say 'twas. Where was she bound?"

"Bound? Oh, you mean where was she going?"

"Sartin."