the barn," she announced, when he
joined her in the dooryard--"old boxes and barrels and rubbish. And a
wheelbarrow. So you won't have far to go for fuel. Now where do you
purpose building the beacon?"

He cast round, peering through the thickening shades of dusk, and
eventually settled upon a little knoll a moderate distance to leeward of
the farm-house. Such a location would be safest, even though the wind
was falling steadily with the flight of the hours; and the fire would be
conspicuously placed for observation from any point in the north and
east.

Off in the north, where Whitaker had marked down the empurpled headland
during the afternoon, a white light lanced the gloom thrice with a
sweeping blade, vanished, and was replaced by a glare of angry red,
which in its turn winked out.

Whitaker watched it briefly with the finger-tips of his right hand
resting lightly on the pulse in his left wrist. Then turning away, he
announced:

"Three white flashes followed by a red at intervals of about ten
seconds. Wonder what _that_ stands for!"

"What is it?" the girl asked. "A ship signalling?"

"No; a lighthouse--probably a first-order light--with its characteristic
flash, not duplicated anywhere along this section of the Atlantic coast.
If I knew anything of such matters, it would be easy enough to tell from
that just about where we are. _If_ that information would help us."

"But, if we can see their light, they'll see ours,--won't they?--and
send to find out what's the matter."

"Perhaps. At least--let's hope so. They're pretty sure to see it, but as
to their attaching sufficient importance to it to investigate--that's a
question. They may not know that the people who live here are away. They
may think the natives here are merely celebrating their silver wedding,
or Roosevelt's refusal of a third term, or the accession of Edward the
Seventh--or anything."

"Please don't be silly--and discouraging. Do get to work and build the
fire."

He obeyed with humility and expedition.

As she had said, there was no lack of fodder for the flames. By dint of
several wheelbarrow trips between the knoll and the farmyard, he had
presently constructed a pyre of impressive proportions; and by that time
it was quite dark--so dark, indeed, that he had been forced to hunt up a
yard lantern, carrying the which the girl had accompanied him on his two
final trips.

"Here," he said clumsily, when all was ready, offering her matche