Tobias Bassett pulled on his oilskins and buckled down the sou’wester over his ears preparatory to venturing upon the high gallery to scrape the clinging snow from the glass. "You have a care what you’re doing up there, slipping around outside the light," advised his sister Hephzibah, who should have been named "Martha," being cumbered by so many cares. "You ain’t so young as you used to be, Tobias." "And you don’t have to throw it up to me. I know my age well enough without looking into the family Bible, Heppy," chuckled the lightkeeper. "I’m sure you ain’t changed _it_. I ain’t cal’latin’ to be like old Miz’ Toomey that when she went to vote for the first time told the poll clerk she was thirty-six years old but had lived in this district fifty-four years. I ain’t goin’ to let go all holts yet. Leastways, not while I’m climbing about that gallery!" "You’d ought to have an assistant, Tobias," sighed his sister, who was preparing supper, always served at an early hour in winter on the Cape. "A young fellow to do the hard work. The Government ought to give you one." "They think one man to a stationary lamp like this is enough. But I can have a helper if I want one," her brother announced. "Then, why don’t ye?" "’Cause I’d have to pay his wages out o’ my own pay check, and feed him in the bargain," chuckled the lightkeeper. "I figger we can’t afford that." "Oh, dear!" croaked the lachrymose Heppy, "if Uncle Jethro Potts would only leave us some of his money when he dies. The good Lord knows we need it as much as ary rel’tive he’s got." "Wal," commented Tobias, picking up his lighted lantern, "Jethro Potts has got to slip his cable pretty soon to do us much good, Heppy. We’re getting kind o’ along in years to enjoy wealth." "Speak for yourself, Tobias Bassett!" said his sister, more energetically. "I ain’t too old to know what to do with money—if I had it." "Ho, ho!" ejaculated her brother. "Slipper’s on t’other foot, ain’t it? I wonder what age you give the poll clerk?" and he went out of the kitchen chuckling. He mounted the spiral stairway leading up through the lighthouse. After passing the level of the second story, where were the family bedrooms, at intervals there were narrow windows—mere slits in the masonry. These were blocked with glass and only on the leeward side could Tobias see through them. "Winter’s dying hard," was his comment, climbing steadily to the lamp room. "This squall come as sudden and as savage as ary storm we’ve had this winter. And the sleet sticks to the glass like all kildee!" He stepped into the lamp room, closing the door at the top of the stairway. It was warm in here, with a strong and sickish smell of burning oil. He shaded his eyes with the sharp of his hand to look into the lamp, the wick of which he had ignited half an hour before.