now being solved, and the trust between them mutual and
without reserve, they no longer were on their guard in each other's
presence, but talked freely on all sorts of topics, and expressed their
mutual dislike of woman with frequency and point. No regular assistant
was appointed or seemed likely to be, for the summer, at least. Seth and
his friend, the superintendent, held another lengthy conversation over
the wire, and, while Brown's uncertain status remained the same, there
was a tacit understanding that, by the first of September, if the young
man was sufficiently "broken in," the position vacated by Ezra Payne
should be his--if he still wanted it.

"You may change your mind by that time," observed Seth. "This ain't no
place for a chap with your trainin', and I know it. It does well enough
for an old derelict like me, with nobody to care a hang whether he lives
or dies, but you're different. And even for me the lonesomeness of it
drives me 'most crazy sometimes. I've noticed you've been havin' blue
streaks more often than when you first came. I cal'late that by fall
you'll be headin' somewheres else, Mr. 'John Brown,'" with significant
emphasis upon the name.

Brown stoutly denied being "bluer" than usual, and his superior did not
press the point. Seth busied himself in his spare time with the work on
the Daisy M. and with his occasional trips behind Joshua to the village.
Brown might have made some of these trips, but he did not care to.
Solitude and seclusion he still desired, and there were more of these
than anything else at the Twin-Lights.

The lightkeeper experimented with no more dogs, but he had evidently not
forgotten the lifesaving man's warning concerning possible thieves, for
he purchased a big spring-lock in Eastboro and attached it to the door
of the boathouse on the little wharf. The lock was, at first, a good
deal more of a nuisance than an advantage, for the key was always being
forgotten or mislaid, and, on one occasion, the door blew shut with
Atkins inside the building, and he pounded and shrieked for ten minutes
before his helper heard him and descended to the rescue.

June crawled by, and July came. Crawled is the proper word, for John
Brown had never known days so long or weeks so unending as those of that
early summer. The monotony was almost never broken, and he began to find
it deadly. He invented new duties about the lights and added swimming
and walks up and down the beach to his lim