it tremble. "But my memory is getting worse and worse, Connie,
lass," he added, with a doleful shake of the head that was belied by the
merry twinkle in his eyes. "Let me see now, what was it their names
were?"

Then laughingly Connie introduced the girls and Uncle Tom had some funny
personal little thing to say to each one of them so that by the time the
introductions were over they were all laughing merrily and feeling very
well acquainted.

"I suppose you will be wanting to see the tower," said Uncle Tom, after
he had shown them all around the quaint little room and introduced them
to some of his treasures--queer racks and shells and pebbles that he had
picked up in his wanderings. "Everybody always wants to climb the tower,
and it's mighty hard on a poor old fellow with a weak back, let me tell
you." And again the doleful shake of the head was belied by the twinkle
in his eyes.

"Oh, we're in no hurry, please," put in Billie, turning from one of the
small-paned, outward-opening windows that looked straight out upon the
ocean. "I think this is the darlingest room I ever saw. I could spend
days and days just looking around here."

Connie's Uncle Tom stood six feet two in his stocking feet and was broad
in proportion. He had a shock of reddish brown hair that was becoming
slightly streaked with gray, but his face was clean shaven. His features
were rugged, rather than handsome, but his eyes were large and red-brown
to match his hair and with an everlasting humor in them that made
everybody love him who knew him.

And now he stood looking down at Billie's pretty, eager face, and, though
his face was grave, his eyes were laughing as usual.

"I'm glad you like it," he said. "I do. But then, I have to."

"I should think you'd want to," Billie shot back. "Why, I am sure I would
just love to live here myself----"

"No, you wouldn't," Uncle Tom interrupted, taking up his pipe and puffing
at it thoughtfully. "It's mighty nice in the day time, I'll admit. Then
it's a mighty pretty, homey place. But at night, especially on a stormy
night, it's different. The wind wails round here like a tortured ghost,
the waves beat upon the rock foundation of the tower like savage beasts
trying to tear it apart, and the tower itself seems to quiver and
tremble. And you start to wonder--" the girls had gathered closer to him,
for his voice was grave and his eyes had stopped laughing--"about the
ships away out there in the fury of the