one.'

"I set my jaws together. 'All right,' I says; 'then I'M goin'. Good by.'

"And I went. Yes, sir, I went. Just as I was, without any hat or dunnage
of any kind. When I slammed the back door it seemed as if I heard her
sing out my name. I waited, but I guess I was mistaken, for she didn't
call it again. And--and I never set eyes on her since. No, sir, not
once."

The lightkeeper stopped. John Brown said nothing, but he laid a
hand sympathetically on the older man's shoulder. Seth shuddered,
straightened, and went on.

"I cleared out of that town that very night," he said. "Walked clear
into Gloucester, put up at a tavern there till mornin', and then took
the cars to Boston. I cal'lated fust that I'd ship as mate or somethin'
on a foreign voyage, but I couldn't; somehow I couldn't bring myself to
do it. You see, I'd promised her I wouldn't ever go to sea again, and
so--well, I was a dum idiot, I s'pose, but I wouldn't break the promise.
I knew the superintendent of lighthouses in this district, and I'd been
an assistant keeper when I was younger. I told him my yarn, and he told
me about this job. I changed my name, passed the examination and come
directly here. And here I've stayed ever since."

He paused again. Brown ventured to ask another question.

"And your--and the lady?" he asked. "Where is she?"

"I don't know. Livin' in her house back there on Cape Ann, I s'pose. She
was, last I knew. I never ask no questions. I want to forget--to forget,
by time! . . . Hi hum! . . . Well, now you know what nobody this side of
Boston knows. And you can understand why I'm willin' to be buried alive
down here. 'Cause a woman wrecked my life; I'm done with women; and to
this forsaken hole no women scarcely ever come. But, when they DO come,
you must understand that I expect you to show 'em round. After hearin'
what I've been through, I guess you'll be willin' to do that much for
me."

He rose, evidently considering the affair settled. Brown stroked his
chin.

"I'm sorry, Atkins," he observed, slowly; "and I certainly do sympathize
with you. But--but, as I said, 'I guess you'll have to hire another
boy!'"

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean that you're not the only woman-hater on the beach."

"Hey? Has a woman given YOU the go by?"

"No. The other way around, if anything. Look here, Atkins! I'm not
in the habit of discussing my private affairs with acquaintances,
but you've been frank with me--and well, hang i