bluff on the other side of the cove from Captain's
Hill, Jimmy suddenly dropped his side of the basket of clams. "Hi!" he
exclaimed. "Why can't we go up into the light-house, now Mr. Flint is
with us?"

"Not to-day," answered his sister, repressively. "Mr. Flint may have
other engagements, and then, you know, Dr. Cricket is waiting for his
game of chess."

"As for me," said Flint, "I was never more at leisure; and as for your
appointment with the Doctor, I advise you to adopt my motto: 'Better
never than late.'"

Winifred hesitated.

"Oh, come on!" persisted her small brother. "Don't be a chump, Fred.
You never used to be."

"Lead on," answered his sister; "rather than be considered anything so
ignominious, I would scale more alarming heights than those of the
light-house, though I confess its winding staircase is not without its
perils."

The path to the light-house led through a patch of bayberry bushes.
Winifred stooped, as she passed, and gathered a handful, which she
crushed in both hands, taking in a deep breath of their spicy aroma.

"Are they so good?" Flint asked, smiling at her childish enjoyment.

"Try and see!" she answered, holding them out to him in the cup of her
joined hands.

Flint bent his face over them for an instant. Then Winifred suddenly
dropped her hands and shook the fragrant leaves to the four winds.
Flint smiled again, for her gesture said as plainly as words: "Here I
am being friendly with this man, to whom I intended to be as frigid as
an iceberg."

Flint responded as if she had spoken.

"Do you never forgive?" he asked.

"No," answered Winifred, impetuously. "I never forgive; but I have a
horrid facility for forgetting."

"Cherish it!" exclaimed her companion. "It is the foundation of many
of the Christian graces."

As they drew nearer the light-house, they felt the salt sea-wind
strong in their faces. The bluff was so gale-swept that the trees,
few, small, and scrubby, had caught a slant to westward, and the
scanty vegetation clung timidly to the ground, like some tiny state
whose existence depends upon its humility. From the edge of the bluff
rose the light-house,--a round stone building, dazzling in its coat of
whitewash. Far up in the air its plate-glass windows gleamed in the
morning sun.

The keeper was standing in the open door, and cheerfully consented to
show the visitors over the premises. Loneliness is a great promoter of
hospitality.

As they peeped into