in?"

"Yes. The man that's been hirin' it has bought it. I'm glad, for I need
the money. So good-by, Seth. 'Tain't likely we'll meet again in this
life."

She started toward the door once more, and this time he was too greatly
disturbed and shaken by what she had told him to detain her. At the
threshhold she turned and looked at him.

"Good-by, Seth," she said again. "I hope you'll be happy. And," with
a half smile, "if I was you I'd stay keepin' lights; it, or somethin'
else, has improved you a whole lot. Good-by."

Then he sprang forward. "Emeline," he cried, "Emeline, wait. You mustn't
go. I can't let you go this way. I . . . What's that?"

"That" was the sound of horse's feet and the rattle of wheels. The
lightkeeper ran to the window.

"It's Henry G.'s grocery cart," he said. "I cal'late he's fetchin' some
truck I ordered last week. Do you want him to see you here?"

"I don't care. He don't know but what you and me are the best of
friends. Yet, I don't know. Maybe it's just as well he don't see me;
then there'll be no excuse for talk. I'll step inside and wait."

She returned to the kitchen, and Seth went out to meet the wagon. Its
driver was the boy who had brought the flypaper and "Job."

"Hello," hailed the youngster, pulling in his steed; "how be you, Mr.
Atkins? I've got some of them things you ordered. The rest ain't come
from Boston yet. Soon's they do, Henry G.'ll send 'em down. How you
feelin' these days? Ain't bought no more dogs, have you?"

Seth curtly replied that he "wa'n't speculatin' in dogs to no great
extent any more," and took the packages which the boy handed him. With
them was a bundle of newspapers and an accumulation of mail matter.

"I fetched the mail for the bungalow, too," said the boy. "There's two
or three letters for that Graham girl and one for Mrs. Bascom. She's
housekeeper there, you know."

"Yes. Here, you might's well leave their mail along with mine. I'll see
it's delivered, all right."

"Will you? Much obliged. Goin' to take it over yourself? Better look
out, hadn't you? That Graham girl's a peach; all the fellers at the
store's talkin' about her. Seems a pity she's wastin' her sassiety on a
woman-hater like you; that's what they say. You ain't gettin' over your
female hate, are you? Haw, haw!"

Mr. Atkins regarded his questioner with stern disapproval.

"There's some things--such as chronic sassiness--some folks never get
over," he observed caustically. "Thou