wn last night. Captain
Jim has always been wishing he could get somebody to write his
life-book properly for him."

"Will you go down to the Point with me this evening, Mrs. Blythe? I'll
ask him about that life-book myself, but I want you to tell him that
you told me the story of lost Margaret and ask him if he will let me
use it as a thread of romance with which to weave the stories of the
life-book into a harmonious whole."

Captain Jim was more excited than ever when Owen Ford told him of his
plan. At last his cherished dream was to be realized and his
"life-book" given to the world. He was also pleased that the story of
lost Margaret should be woven into it.

"It will keep her name from being forgotten," he said wistfully.

"That's why I want it put in."

"We'll collaborate," cried Owen delightedly. "You will give the soul
and I the body. Oh, we'll write a famous book between us, Captain Jim.
And we'll get right to work."

"And to think my book is to be writ by the schoolmaster's grandson!"
exclaimed Captain Jim. "Lad, your grandfather was my dearest friend.
I thought there was nobody like him. I see now why I had to wait so
long. It couldn't be writ till the right man come. You BELONG
here--you've got the soul of this old north shore in you--you're the
only one who COULD write it."

It was arranged that the tiny room off the living room at the
lighthouse should be given over to Owen for a workshop. It was
necessary that Captain Jim should be near him as he wrote, for
consultation upon many matters of sea-faring and gulf lore of which
Owen was quite ignorant.

He began work on the book the very next morning, and flung himself into
it heart and soul. As for Captain Jim, he was a happy man that summer.
He looked upon the little room where Owen worked as a sacred shrine.
Owen talked everything over with Captain Jim, but he would not let him
see the manuscript.

"You must wait until it is published," he said. "Then you'll get it
all at once in its best shape."

He delved into the treasures of the life-book and used them freely. He
dreamed and brooded over lost Margaret until she became a vivid reality
to him and lived in his pages. As the book progressed it took
possession of him and he worked at it with feverish eagerness. He let
Anne and Leslie read the manuscript and criticise it; and the
concluding chapter of the book, which the critics, later on, were
pleased to call idyllic, was model