“No, sir!” replied the old man; “I don't have no school readers. The child learns out o' the two best books in the world,--the Bible, and William Shakespeare's book; them's all the books she ever seed--_saw_, I should say.” “William Shak--” began Captain Nazro; and then he broke off in sheer amazement, and said, simply, “Well, I'm blowed!” “The minister giv 'em to me,” said Captain January. “I reckon he knows. There's a dictionary, too,” he added, rather sadly; “but I can't make her take to that, nohow, though there's a power o' fine words in it.” Then, as the other man remained silent and openmouthed, he said: “But I must be goin', Cap'n Nazro, sir! The little un'll be lookin' for me. Good day, sir, and thank ye kindly, all the same as if it was to be, which it ain't!” And with a friendly gesture, the old man stepped into his red dory, and rowed away with long, sturdy strokes. Captain Nazro gazed after him meditatively, took out his pipe and looked at it, then gazed again. “January's cracked,” he said; “that's what's the matter with him. He's a good man, and a good lighthouse-keeper, and he's been an able seaman in his day, none better; but he's cracked!” There is an island off a certain part of the coast of Maine,--a little rocky island, heaped and tumbled together as if Dame Nature had shaken down a heap of stones at random from her apron, when she had finished making the larger islands which lie between it and the mainland. At one end, the shoreward end, there is a tiny cove, and a bit of silver-sand beach, with a green meadow beyond it, and a single great pine; but all the rest is rocks, rocks. At the farther end the rocks are piled high, like a castle wall, making a brave barrier against the Atlantic waves; and on top of this cairn rises the lighthouse, rugged and sturdy as the rocks themselves, but painted white, and with its windows shining like great, smooth diamonds. This is Light Island; and it was in this direction that Captain January's red dory was headed when he took his leave of his brother-captain, and rowed away from the wharf. It was a long pull; in fact, it took pretty nearly the whole afternoon, so that the evening shadows were lengthening when at length he laid down his oars, and felt the boat's nose rub against the sand of the little home-cove. But rowing was no more effort than breathing to Captain January, and it was no fatigue, but only a trifle of stiffness from sitting so long, that troubled him a little in getting out of the boat. As he stepped slowly out upon the firm-grained silver of the little beach, he looked up and around with an expectant air, and seeing no one, a look of disappointment crossed his face. He opened his lips as if to call some one, but checking himself, “Happen she's gettin' supper!” he said. “It's later than I thought. I don't pull so spry as I used ter, 'pears ter me. Wal, thar! 'tain't to be expected. I sh'll be forty years old before I know it!”