it would fall in his watch, jerked his neck out of his
woollen shirt and strained his eyes in the direction of the beach until
they rested upon the figure of a man slowly making his way over the
dunes. As he passed the old House of Refuge, some hundreds of yards
below, he stopped for a moment as if undecided on his course, looked
ahead again at the larger house of the Station, and then, as if
reassured, came stumbling on, his gait showing his want of experience
in avoiding the holes and tufts of grass cresting the dunes. His
movements were so awkward and his walk so unusual in that neighborhood
that Tod stepped out on the low porch of the Station to get a better
view of him.

From the man's dress, and from his manner of looking about him, as if
feeling his way, Tod concluded that he was a stranger and had tramped
the beach for the first time. At the sight of the surfman the man left
the dune, struck the boat path, and walked straight toward the porch.

"Kind o' foggy, ain't it?"

"Yes," replied Tod, scrutinizing the man's face and figure,
particularly his clothes, which were queerly cut and with a foreign air
about them. He saw, too, that he was strong and well built, and not
over thirty years of age.

"You work here?" continued the stranger, mounting the steps and coming
closer, his eyes taking in Tod, the porch, and the view of the
sitting-room through the open window.

"I do," answered Tod in the same tone, his eyes still on the man's face.

"Good job, is it?" he asked, unbuttoning his coat.

"I get enough to eat," answered Tod curtly, "and enough to do." He had
resumed his position against the jamb of the door and stood perfectly
impassive, without offering any courtesy of any kind. Strangers who
asked questions were never very welcome. Then, again, the inquiry about
his private life nettled him.

The man, without noticing the slight rebuff, looked about for a seat,
settled down on the top step of the porch, pulled his cap from his
head, and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand.
Then he said slowly, as if to himself:

"I took the wrong road and got consid'able het up."

Tod watched him while he mopped his head with a red cotton
handkerchief, but made no reply. Curiosity is not the leading
characteristic of men who follow the sea.

"Is the head man around? His name's Holt, ain't it?" continued the
stranger, replacing his cap and stuffing his handkerchief into the
side-pocket of h