"Won't you come out and be friendly?" he said.

"Thank you." Janet came forth, book in hand, with eyes full of amus.e.m.e.nt. There was an awkward pause while the man gazed steadily at her. Then Janet spoke.

"I, I suppose you've come now, to stay?" It sounded brusque and unmannerly, but it was the only remark that occurred to her.

"I had thought of making rather a stay,"--the eyes rested upon the bright face,--"however, possession is nine-tenths of the law. If you say the word I'll skedaddle!"

"Oh!" panted Janet, "I pray you pardon me!" The sentence sounded Shakespearean in the gathering confusion. "I only thought--do you not see? I suppose you are Mr. Devant and I knew you would end--end--"

"What, pray? I'm not uncompromisingly final. I've been known to let things run on."

"Why, you see, I've been in the habit for years of crawling in your cellar window, coming up here and--reading your books! I began it when I was a very little girl; it's come to be a kind of habit."

The man laughed with keen relish.

"You quite flatter me, Miss--Miss--?" he paused.

"Oh! Janet. Janet of the Dunes, you know, Cap'n Billy's Janet. You may not remember me, but I saw you once, years and years ago. I was at the Light, David's Light; you came visiting there. I called you Mr.

Government!"

"Miss Janet, do take a seat! Permit me!" He arose and with courtly grace placed a chair for his companion. "I recall you perfectly. The mistake you made in my name came to be a joke and byword after I went home. You saw me snooping around the Light and thought I was the Government, inspecting Captain David's domain. It all comes to me quite clearly. I remember, you put your back against a certain closet and intimated in no doubtful language that it was private property. You were a bewitching small child, Miss Janet, if you will pardon an old man's freedom of speech. I am delighted to renew our acquaintance." Janet flushed. "I presume, counting upon your memory of my inspection of the lighthouse, you felt free to inspect my house. Are the books to your taste, Miss Janet?"

"They have been my greatest joy in all these years." A serious tone and a sudden moisture of the blue eyes touched the man. He spoke in a sincerer manner, looking more sharply at the glowing face.

"You are a book-lover by nature, I see."

"Yes, I never see a book but I feel as I do when I stand by the sea on a foggy morning. I can see nothing, but I know that everything lies hidden in the fog. I wonder what kind of a day lies there, and what the day bears. So it is with a book, I open the covers,--and the fog slowly melts away!"

"Yes." A smell of the sea stole into the open window and the man took a long breath. "You have read wisely, I hope?" he said.

"I began with the pictures. Then I spelled out the words in the books on the bottom shelf; I've worked my way up. I'm on the fifth shelf by the door now. I do not seem to be able to get any further than this--" She pa.s.sed the book to him. "I've been at this book three whole months! I sort of hoped--please forgive me, but I sort of hoped--I might get to the sixth shelf before you came back!"

"Shakespeare!" mused the master of Bluff Head, "and he's held you three months, Miss Janet, after you've waded through heaven only knows what?"

"Yes: he makes me forget everything. I cannot explain, only he sings to me, and he talks to me, and he makes me a hundred people all in one."

"Miss Janet, heaven forbid! that a mere master of Bluff Head should close the gates to this Genius' Eden to such a lover as you! Allow me."

He handed out the key that had given him entrance to his home. "Permit me to give you royal freedom to what, surely, is more yours than mine. A cellar window has been honored enough; the doorway is not wide enough for so true a worshipper."

"I do not understand you! I fear you are laughing at me."

"Heaven save us! No, my child, I mean simply this. Come at your own sweet will and read to your heart's content. If you will graciously permit me, I most gladly will wander with you through these--" He waved his hand toward the shelves. "I may be able to point out some new pleasure-paths; I am certain you can make me love old ones better. If I am absent from Bluff Head, I will leave orders that you are to be undisturbed while you honor this room! I trust my old friend of the Light is well?"

"Yes. But, oh! how can I thank you?"

"By returning, my dear child! There I hear Saxton, how the time has flown!" He arose and Janet slipped to her feet, and pa.s.sed from the room. Devant called after her.

"Good bye, for the present, Janet of the Dunes!" For a moment the girl paused.

"Good bye, Mr. Government!" she replied, and was gone, leaving a trailing ripple of laughter as a memory of the strange meeting.

CHAPTER IV

"Janet, where you goin'?"

"Over to the Hills, Susan Jane."

"Everythin' rid up?"

"Everything."

"I never felt my powerlessness so much as I have since you come."

"I'm sorry, Susan Jane. It must be hard to see others active, if one is tied as you are. Try not to look at me."

"Not look at you? Huh! Gals need watchin'. I know it would suit more'n you, like as not, if I'd been struck blind as well as helpless. But I ain't blind. I see all that's goin', an' more, too!" Janet sighed. The atmosphere of the Light, below stairs, was depressing.

"What's Mark Tapkins hangin' round fur?"

"It was his turn at the Light last night, Susan Jane."

"Land sake! I know that. Didn't I hear David snorin' fit t' bust, till mornin'? But Mark didn't use t' lap his turn clear on t' the next forenoon. Janet, do you know what I think?"

"No, Susan Jane."

"I think Mark Tapkins is shinin' up t' you!"

"Do you, Susan Jane?" Janet was struggling with her hair.

"Yes, I do. An' I feel it's my place t' tell you that it ain't a bad chance fur you. Mark's a steady, slow fellow, but he ain't lackin'.

You're dreadful giddy an' don't take t' house ways. Mark's father is the best housekeeper I know on. He's sort of daft; but all the sense he has left is gone t' cookin' an' managin' a house. He ain't old an' the soft-headed kind last longer than keener folks: it would fit int' your ways right proper. Mrs. Jo G.'s girl couldn't stand it. She is so brisk an' contrivin', an' Mrs. Jo G., being right here on hand, has hopes of workin' Maud Grace off on some boarder; but you ain't got n.o.body t'

pilot you, Janet, an' you're queer an' unlikely, 'cept in looks, an'

some doubts the worth of them! As long as Mark is leanin' toward you, I think it my duty to head you toward him."

"Thank you, Susan Jane, but I'll pilot myself, please." The girl's face showed an angry flush. "Shall I open the Bible for you before I go?"

"Yes; you know the place?"

"It falls open to the page, Susan Jane."

"Thank you. An' please put the money box where I can see it. Was it one or two weeks you paid fur?"

"Two, Susan Jane. Now I must be off. Tell David not to wait dinner."

"Wait dinner!" sniffed Susan Jane; "well, listen t' them airs! Wait dinner! I'd like t' see any one, boarder or saucy jade, as would make me wait dinner!" Janet had fled before the rising storm.