"This is very delightful," Stysalski exclaimed. "I did not dream to find charming friends at a lighthouse. The rest of Quimpaug is—" he shrugged his shoulders—"canaille. My landlord, Schmidt—a German; my neighbors,—peasants."
And might he, perhaps, now see the view from the tower? He laid aside his sketch-box as he spoke and prepared to follow Jim, who, however, did not move.
"I'm very sorry," said Jim, "but, you see, chance visitors are not allowed in the Light nowadays. Government orders, not personal inclination. I regret that I must ask you to return to the mainland, but such is my painful duty as keeper of this light-station."
The Count bowed, a faint, disappointed bow, and stooped to fasten his sketch-box. As he rose he became aware of Garth, apparently for the first time, and strode to him.
"How do you do, my yo'ng friend?" he cried suddenly, extending his hand to Garth, who, quite unprepared for this tardy greeting, had not time to dry his own hand in the least.
("He needn't have minded," Garth said afterward; "it was perfickly clean wet sea-water."
"Why didn't you wipe it off?" his mother
