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"The sails of that ship," cried the Captain, "must have been in sight some time before you reported her. When I came on deck she was hull up. Is this your idea of keeping a look-out?",

"Fact, Jack. Seems to me them young Scotians don't scare very easy. However," sliding off the boat, "that ain't gettin' ready for the apple gatherin'. Let's go and mosey up some sacks and get the others in line.",

Suddenly his fears vanished. Croaker's voice, high-pitched and jubilant, had summoned him from somewhere on the other side of the building. As quickly as the weeds and his lagging feet would permit Billy joined him. Croaker was standing erect on a pile of old bottles, basking in the radiance of the colored lights which the sun drew from them. Undoubtedly in his black heart he felt that his master would glory in this glittering pile even as he gloried in it; for was there not in this heap of dazzling old bottles light enough to make the whole world glad?,

He smiled and held out his hand. The other man took it dazedly, then slowly and with head lifted towards the darkening skies, he passed down the road.

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"After a while the old man got strong enough to go home. Soon after that he disappeared an' stayed away fer nearly three weeks. Then, all at once, he turned up at home ag'in. He came over to Stanhope's house every now an' ag'in to visit with him. One night he says to Frank after they had had supper: 'Frank,' says he, 'I've been over to Cleveland an' I've made my will. I've left you everythin' I own. You're the only decent person I've known since I lost my ol' mother. I want that thousand acre woods to stand jest as God made it as long as I'm alive; when I die you kin do what you like with it.' Then afore Frank could even thank him the old man got up an' hobbled out.,

Maurice was climbing a tall poplar standing on the bank of the creek. "I say, Billy," he cried excitedly. "There she is, jest 'round the bend. They've beached her in that piece of woods. It's Joe LaRose an' Art Shipley that took her, I'll bet a cookie. They're always goin' 'cross there to hunt fer turtle's eggs.",

The light-house keeper, who lived with his daughter in a comfortable house on the extreme end of the Point, had always been glad to welcome Hinter to his isolated loneliness. With an invalid's self-centeredness, he believed that it was to relieve the monotony of his existence that this man paid him periodical visits. He did not dream that his daughter, Erie, named after the lake, whose blue lay deep in her eyes and whose moods were of herself a part, was the real attraction which drew Hinter to their home. Indeed it would have taken a much more astute observer than the man who had been keeper of the light for more than thirty years to have observed this. Never by look, word or sign had Hinter shown that in this slender, golden-haired girl, whose laughter was the sweetest note in the world—this girl who could trim a sail in biting gale and swim the wide, deep channel when tempest angered it to clutching under-currents—was more to him than just a glad, natural product of her world. Always his manner towards her had been one of kindly respect. In time she grew ashamed of the distrust she had on first acquaintance intuitively felt for him. He was good to her father and considerate of her. He talked interestingly of the big outside world and described the cities he had visited. Her father liked him and always looked forward to his visits, and with a sick man's petulance grumbled if Hinter failed to come on his regular nights.,

Mr. Johnston frowned darkly. "Walter Watland—what?" he repeated.