t no
longer did he raise his eyes to Janet. Mark had got his bearings at
last, and was steering his lonely way through sullen and bitter waters.
Trouble had set a strange dignity upon him.

Davy, seeing others downcast, rose to tuneful heights. Not only the
landings, but the house, the long flight of steps, and the windswept
balcony and shining Light knew his cheerful songs.

"Singin' 's a might clarifyin' exercise," he said to Janet; "it opens
the body an' soul, so t' speak, an' lets more'n the tune an' words out.
The angels sing in glory, an' I mind how 't is said the mornin' stars
sang together. So long as I've got a voice, I'm goin' t' sing, an' drown
the sound of worse things." So Davy sang and guided many a sad thought
into safer channels.

Over at the Station the crew patiently went through their routine. The
short dark days passed with the monotony that was second nature to the
brave fellows. Perhaps their greatest courage was displayed in their
homely, detached lives. They cooked; they slept; they drilled and
patrolled the beach. They talked little to each other; but they were
ready for near and far-off duty, should a signal be displayed. Small
wages repaid them for their faithful endurance; they were not permitted
to add to their income by other labor, and they knew that when age or
weakness overtook them the government they served as faithfully as any
soldier could, would discard them for younger or stronger men.
Nevertheless they bore their part uncomplainingly through deadly
loneliness or tragic danger.

"It looks like it was goin' t' be a hard winter, settin' in so early an'
so persistent," said Billy one day. Billy took more heed of the weather
than did the others. The patrols tired him more now than they ever had
before.

"Like as not!" agreed Jared Brown; "I saw a skim of porridge ice, this
side the bar, as I turned in this mornin'."

Billy nodded.

"Janet comin' on this winter?"

"No, she's mostly goin' t' stay off. Davy needs her more'n I do, an' 't
ain't no fit place over here for jest one woman."

"'T ain't that!" The smoke rose high between the men.

"Heard how Mark Tapkins seems t' feel Jo G.'s gal's death?"

"Yes! yes!"

"I thought once 't was your Janet."

"Well, 't warn't." Billy felt justified in this denial, though at one
time he had thought so himself.

"There don't seem t' be any one likely fur Janet hereabouts. A little
larnin' spiles a gal, Billy."

"Is them yer senti