e does. I shouldn't
wonder," with an exuberant chuckle, "if that settin' room' was some
stirred up when he sees it. The pup had loosened the box cover afore I
left. Ho, ho!"

"But won't he send the dog back here again?"

"No, he won't. I left a note for him on the table. There was
consider'ble ginger in every line of it. No, Job won't be sent here,
no matter what becomes of him. And if anything SHOULD be broke in that
settin' room--well, there was SOME damage done to our kitchen. No, I
guess Henry G. and me are square. He won't make any fuss; he wants to
keep our trade, you see."

It was a true prophecy. The storekeeper made no trouble, and Job
remained at Eastboro until a foray on a neighbor's chickens resulted
in his removal from this vale of tears. Neither the lightkeeper nor
his helper ever saw him again, and when Seth next visited the store
and solicitously inquired concerning the pup's health, Henry G. merely
looked foolish and changed the subject.

But the dog's short sojourn at the Twin-Lights had served to solve one
mystery, that of Atkins's daily excursions to Pounddug Slough. He
went there to work on the old schooner, the Daisy M. Seth made no more
disclosures concerning his past life--that remained a secret--but he did
suggest his helper's going to inspect the schooner. "Just walk across
and look her over," he said. "I'd like to know what you think of her.
See if I ain't makin' a pretty good job out of nothin'. FOR nothin', of
course," he added, gloomily; "but it keeps me from thinkin' too much. Go
and see her, that's a good feller."

So the young man did go. He climbed aboard the stranded craft--a forlorn
picture she made, lying on her side in the mud--and was surprised to
find how much had been manufactured "out of nothing." Her seams, those
which the sun had opened, were caulked neatly; her deck was clean and
white; she was partially rigged, with new and old canvas and ropes; and
to his landsman's eyes she looked almost fit for sea. But when he said
as much to Seth, the latter laughed scornfully.

"Fit for nothin'," scoffed the lightkeeper. "I could make her fit,
maybe, if I wanted to spend money enough, but I don't. I can't get at
her starboard side, that's down in the mud, and I cal'late she'd leak
like a skimmer. She's only got a fores'l and a jib, and the jib's only
a little one that used to belong to a thirty-foot sloop. Her anchor's
gone, and I wouldn't trust her main topmast to carry anythin