now."

"No. Your apology, is accepted."

"That's good. Er--er--say, you--you must have been sort of surprised to
see me paintin' the Daisy M."

"The which?"

"The Daisy M. That's the name of that old schooner I was to work on."

"Indeed. . . . How is the weather tonight, clear?"

"Yes, it's fair now, but looks sort of thick to the east'ard. I say
you must have been surprised to see me paintin' the Daisy M. I've been
tinkerin' on that old boat, off and on, ever since last fall. Bought her
for eight dollars of the feller that owned her, and she was a hulk for
sartin then. I've caulked her up and rigged her, after a fashion. Now
she might float, if she had a chance. Every afternoon, pretty nigh, I've
been at her. Don't know exactly why I do it, neither. And yet I do,
too. Prob'ly you've wondered where I was takin' all that old canvas and
stuff. I--"

"Excuse me, Atkins. I mind my own business, you know. I ask no
questions, and you are under no obligation to tell me anything."

"I know, I know." The lightkeeper nodded solemnly. He clasped his knee
with his hands and rocked back and forth in his chair. "I know," he went
on, an absent, wistful look in his eye; "but you must have wondered,
just the same. I bought that craft because--well, because she reminded
me of old times, I cal'late. I used to command a schooner like her once;
bigger and lots more able, of course, but a fishin' schooner, same
as she used to be. And I was a good skipper, if I do say it. My crews
jumped when I said the word, now I tell you. That's where I belong--on
the deck of a vessel. I'm a man there--a man."

He paused. Brown made no comment. Seth continued to rock and to talk; he
seemed to be thinking aloud.

"Yes, sir," he declared, with a sigh; "when I was afloat I was a man,
and folks respected me. I just do love salt water and sailin' craft.
That's why I bought the Daisy M. I've been riggin' her and caulkin' her
just for the fun of doin' it. She'll never float again. It would take
a tide like a flood to get her off them flats. But when I'm aboard or
putterin' around her, I'm happy--happier, I mean. It makes me forget
I'm a good-for-nothin' derelict, stranded in an old woman's job of
lightkeepin'. Ah, hum-a-day, young feller, you don't know what it is
to have been somebody, and then, because you was a fool and did a fool
thing, to be nothin'--nothin'! You don't know what that is."

John Brown caught his breath. His fist descended upon