The helper's ill nature was in evidence again at breakfast time. Seth endeavored to joke him out of it, but, not succeeding, and finding his best jokes received with groans instead of laughter, gave it up in disgust and retired. The young man cleared the table, piled the dishes in the sink, heated a kettleful of water and began the day's drudgery, drudgery which he once thought was fun. Why had he had the ill luck to fall overboard from that steamer. Or why didn't he drown when he did fall overboard? Then he would have been comfortably dead, at all events. Why hadn't he stayed in New York or Boston or somewhere and kept on trying for a position, for work--any kind of work? He might have starved while trying, but people who were starving were self-respecting, and when they met other people--for instance, sisters of fellows they used to know--had nothing to be ashamed of and needn't lie--unless they wanted to. He was a common loafer, under a false name, down on a sandheap washing dishes. At this point he dropped one of the dishes--a plate--and broke it. “D--n!” observed John Brown, under his breath, but with enthusiasm. He stooped to pick up the fragments of the plate, and, rising once more to an erect position, found himself facing Miss Ruth Graham. She was standing in the doorway. “Don't mind me, please,” she said. “No doubt I should feel the same way if it were my plate.” The young man's first move, after recovery, was to make sure that the door between the kitchen and the hall leading to the lightkeeper's bedroom was shut. It was, fortunately. The young lady watched him in silence, though her eyes were shining. “Good morning, Mr. Brown,” she observed, gravely. The assistant murmured a good morning, from force of habit. “There's another piece you haven't picked up,” continued the visitor, pointing. Brown picked up the piece. “Is Mr. Atkins in?” inquired the girl. “Yes, he's--he's in.” “May I see him, please?” “I--I--” “If he's busy, I can wait.” She seated herself in a chair. “Don't let me interrupt you,” she continued. “You were busy, too, weren't you?” “I was washing dishes,” declared Brown, savagely. “Oh!” “Yes. Washing and sweeping and doing scrubwoman's work are my regular employments.” “Indeed! Then I'm just in time to help. Is this the dish towel?” regarding it dubiously. “It is, but I don't need any help, thank you.” “Of course you do. Everyone is glad to be helped at doing dishes. I may as well make myself useful while I'm waiting for Mr. Atkins.” She picked up a platter and proceeded to wipe it, quite as a matter of course. Brown, swearing inwardly, turned fiercely to the suds. “Did you wish to see Atkins on particular business?” he asked, a moment later. “Oh, no; I wanted to make his acquaintance, that's all. Horace told me so many interesting things about him. By the way, was it last summer, or the summer before, that you met my brother here?”