Brown did not wait to hear more. He strode to the house, with Mr. Stover at his heels. On his way he caught a glimpse of the buggy, the horse dozing between the shafts. On the seat of the buggy were two women, one plump and round-faced, the other thin and gaunt. Mr. Stover panted behind him. “Say, Mr. Brown,” he whispered, as they entered the kitchen; “don't tell my wife nor Sophi about Seth's bein' sick. Better not say a word to them about it.” The tone in which this was spoken made the substitute assistant curious. “Why not?” he asked. “'Cause--well, 'cause Hannah's hobby is sick folks, as you might say. If there's a cat in the neighborhood that's ailin' she's always dosin' of it up and fixin' medicine for it, and the like of that. And Sophi's one of them 'New Thoughters' and don't believe anybody's got any right to be sick. The two of 'em ain't done nothin' but argue and row over diseases and imagination and medicines ever since Sophi got here. If they knew Seth was laid up, I honestly believe they'd drop picnic and everythin' and start fightin' over whether he was really sick or just thought he was. And I sort of figgered on havin' a quiet day off.” Brown found the lightkeeper stretched on the bed in his room. He was dressed, with the exception of coat and boots, and when the young man entered he groaned feebly. “What's the matter?” demanded the alarmed helper. “Oh, my!” groaned Seth. “Oh, my!” “Are you in pain? What is it? Shall I 'phone for the doctor?” “No, no. No use gettin' the doctor. I'll be all right by and by. It's one of my attacks. I have 'em every once in a while. Just let me alone, and let me lay here without bein' disturbed; then I'll get better, I guess.” “But it's so sudden!” “I know. They always come on that way. Now run along, like a good feller, and leave me to my suff'rin's. O-oh, dear!” Much troubled, Brown turned to the door. As he was going out he happened to look back. The dresser stood against the wall beyond the bed, and in its mirror he caught a glimpse of the face of the sick man. On that face, which should have been distorted with agony, was a broad grin. Brown found the little Stover man waiting for him in the kitchen. “Be you ready?” he asked. “Ready?” repeated Brown, absently. “Ready for what?” “Why, to show us round the lights. Sophi, she ain't never seen one afore. Atkins said that, bein' as he wasn't able to leave his bed, you'd show us around.” “He did, hey?” “Yes. He said you'd be glad to.” “Hum!” Mr. Brown's tone was that of one upon whom, out of darkness, a light has suddenly burst. “I see,” he mused, thoughtfully. “Yes, yes. I see.” For a minute he stood still, evidently pondering. Then, with a twinkle in his eye, he strode out of the house and walked briskly across to the buggy. “Good morning, ladies,” he said, removing the new cap which Seth had recently purchased for him in Eastboro. “Mr. Stover tells me you wish to be shown the lights.”