't tell you a single word. I promised Miss Martha I wouldn't never
tell and I'm goin' to keep my promise."

That evening Martha approached her lodger on the subject of the
possibility of selling the light keeper's Development holdings for
him. To say the least, she received no encouragement. Galusha was quite
emphatic in his expression of disbelief in that possibility.

"Oh, dear me, no, Miss Martha," he stammered. "I--ah--I feel quite
sure it would be unwise to--ah--attempt such a thing. You see--ah--you
see--my cousin is--is--"

"I know, he's sick, poor man, and shouldn't be disturbed. You're right,
of course, Mr. Bangs. It was only that Cap'n Jeth had always been a good
friend of father's and mine and I thought if Cabot, Bancroft and Cabot
really were buyin' the stock perhaps they might like to buy his. But I
can see why you wouldn't want to trouble Mr. Cabot again just now. I'm
sorry I mentioned it to you; I'm afraid I have made you nervous."

Galusha was nervous, certainly, and showed it. He protested, however,
that he was quite all right really, and, as his landlady did not mention
the subject again, he recovered a portion of his equilibrium. And during
the following week he gradually gained more and more confidence. The
telltale certificate hidden in his bureau drawer was, of course, a
drawback to his peace of mind, and the recollection of his recent
outbreak of prevarication and deception was always a weight upon his
conscience. But, to offset these, there was a changed air about the
Phipps' home and its inmates which was so very gratifying that, if it
did not deaden that conscience, it, at least, administered to it an
effective dose of soothing syrup.

Primmie wept no more into the dishwater nor sighed despairingly when
serving breakfast. She sang now and, although an unprejudiced person
might not have found the change an unmixed delight, Galusha did. Miss
Phipps sang, too, occasionally, not with the camp-meeting exuberance of
her maid, but with the cheery hum of the busy bee. She was happy; she
said so and looked so, and, in spite of his guilty knowledge of the
deceit upon which that happiness was founded, her lodger was happy
because she was.

"Do you know," he observed, on Saturday morning of that week, as, coated
and capped for his daily walk, he stood by the door of the dining room,
"it's quite extraordinary, really. I have been thinking, you know, and
it really is quite extraordinary."

Martha was