“Very,” I answered, but fear I was not looking at the view. It may be that she noticed this, for she said: “You have come into your own again, I see. So have I.” She indicated her gown with a smile and a gesture. I laughed. “Yes,” I said. “I have returned unto Joshua that which was his.” “You should have kept it. You have no idea what a picturesque lightkeeper you make, Mr. Paine.” Somehow or other this harmless joke hurt. “Yes,” I answered, drily, “that is about my measure, I presume.” Her eyes twinkled. “I thought the measure rather scant,” she observed, mischievously. “I wish I might have a snap-shot of you in that--uniform.” “I am afraid the opportunity for that is past.” “But it--” with a little bubble of mirth, “it was so funny.” “No doubt. I am sorry I can't oblige you with a photograph.” She looked at me, biting her lip. “Is your bump of humor a dent, Mr. Paine?” she inquired. “I am afraid it must be.” “You may be right. I don't appreciate a joke as keenly as--well, as Mr. Carver, for instance.” She turned her back upon me and led the way to the door. “Shall we go to breakfast?” she asked, in a different tone. Breakfast was a silent meal, so far as we two were concerned. The Atwoods, however, talked enough to make up the deficiency. As we rose from the table the young lady turned to the lightkeeper. “Mr. Atwood,” she said, “I presume you are going to be kind enough to take me to Wellmouth?” “Why, Miss, I--I wan't cal'latin' to. Mr. Paine here, he's got all the gas he needs now and he'll take you over in his launch.” “Oh! But you will go, if I ask you to?” “Sartin sure.” “You have been so very kind that I dislike to ask another favor; but I hoped you would send a telegram for me. My father and mother will be very much alarmed and I must wire them at once. You will have to send it 'collect,' for,” with a rueful smile, “I haven't my purse with me.” “Land sakes! that'll be all right. Glad to help you out.” I put in a word. “It will not be necessary,” I said, impatiently. “I have money enough, Miss Colton.” I was ignored. “Thank you so much, Mr. Atwood. You will come with me and look out for the telegram?” “Yes. Yes--yes. But I don't see what you need to send no telegram for. Mr. Paine here, he telephoned to your folks last night.” She looked at me and then at Joshua. “Last night?” she repeated. “Why yes--or this mornin' after you'd gone to bed. He was dead set on it. I could see he was 'most tired and wore out, but he wouldn't rest till he'd 'phoned your folks and told 'em you was safe and sound. Didn't seem to care nothin' about himself, but he was bound your pa and ma shouldn't worry.” She turned to me. “Did you?” she asked. “Yes,” I answered. “Your father is to meet us at the Wellmouth wharf.” “Why didn't you tell me?” “I intended to. I meant to tell you when I saw you in the lighthouse, but--I forgot it.” She said no more, but when Joshua, hat and boots on, met us at the door she spoke to him.