The rain was still falling, although not as heavily, but the wind was coming in fierce squalls. He descended the path to the cove, floundering through the wet bushes. At the foot of the hill he was surprised to find the salt marsh a sea of water not a vestige of ground above the surface. This was indeed a record-breaking tide, such as he had never known before. He did not pause to reflect upon tides or such trivialities, but, with a growl at being obliged to make the long detour, he rounded the end of the cove and climbed up to the door of the bungalow. Under the edge of that door he tucked the note he had written. As soon as this was accomplished he became aware that he had expressed himself very clumsily. He had not written as he might. A dozen brilliant thoughts came to him. He must rewrite that note at all hazards. So he spent five frantic minutes trying to coax that envelope from under the door. But, in his care to push it far enough, it had dropped beyond the sill, and he could not reach it. The thing was done for better or for worse. Perfectly certain that it was for worse, he splashed mournfully back to the lights. In the lantern room of the right-hand tower he spent the remainder of the night, occasionally wandering out on the gallery to note the weather. The storm was dying out. The squalls were less and less frequent, and the rain had been succeeded by a thick fog. The breakers pounded in the dark below him, and from afar the foghorns moaned and wailed. It was a bad night, a night during which no lightkeeper should be absent from his post. And where was Seth? CHAPTER XIV “BENNIE D.” Seth's drive to Eastboro was a dismal journey. Joshua pounded along over the wet sand or through ruts filled with water, and not once during the trip was he ordered to “Giddap” or “Show some signs of life.” Not until the first scattered houses of the village were reached did the lightkeeper awaken from his trance sufficiently to notice that the old horse was limping slightly with the right forefoot. “Hello!” exclaimed Seth. “What's the matter with you, Josh?” Joshua slopped on, but this was a sort of three-legged progress. The driver leaned forward and then pulled on the reins. “Whoa!” he ordered. “Stand still!” Joshua stood still, almost with enthusiasm. Seth tucked the end of the reins between the whip socket and the dashboard, and swung out of the wagon to make an examination. Lifting the lame foot, he found the trouble at once. The shoe was loose. “Humph!” he soliloquized. “Cal'late you and me'll have to give Benijah a job. Well,” climbing back into the vehicle, “I said I'd never give him another after the row we had about the last, but I ain't got ambition enough to go clear over to the Denboro blacksmith's. I don't care. I don't care about nothin' any more. Giddap.”