roof. Away from the door, ledges shelved gently to the shoal, but deep water fingered the foot of the tower, lapping at the weed-fringed foundation. Though afterglow still touched the white walls, the light was already lit, pale in the half-dusk and shining faintly, like an early star. While the launch swung nearer, Joan marked details—the great fog-bell beneath a pent-roof, a weathered bench under green-shuttered windows, a tangle of bright flowers blooming sturdily in painted boxes.
Cap'n 'Bijah shook his head.
"They're cur'ous, like I said," he mused. "Now look at that!" He indicated a trim little sail-boat moored near the landing. "That's his'n, an' he can sail her, too! Bought her dirt cheap from an ole feller I know an' spent half his fust winter tinkerin' at her in his little boathouse thar. An' look at her! 'Sides makin' her sea-wo'thy, he made her handsome. Wa'n't never no keeper on Silver Shoal but what was satisfied with the boats the Service guv 'em. That dory yonder's a lighthouse boat, an' no call fer another, seem's so; but he's one that has his way, an' most gen'ally 't is a good way, fer 's I can see."
The Lydia's blunt nose bumped the landing,
