relics. But the Bay Queen met her fate in the winter season, amid a gale
such as even the oldest residents could not remember. Now it was early
summer; the night before had been a flat calm. There had been no wreck,
or the lifesavers would have told him of it. There would be no excuse
for a wreck, anyway.

All this, in disjointed fragments, passed through the lightkeeper's
mind as he descended the path in frantic bounds and plowed through
the ankle-deep white sand of the beach. As he approached the recumbent
figure he yelled a panted "Hi, there!" He did not expect the hail to be
answered or even noticed. Therefore, he was pleasantly disappointed when
the figure rolled over, raised itself on one elbow, looked at him in a
dazed sort of way and replied cheerfully but faintly, "Hello!"

Seth stopped short, put a hand to the breast of his blue flannel shirt,
and breathed a mighty sigh of relief.

"Gosh!" he exclaimed with fervor. Then, changing his labored gallop
for a walk, he continued his progress toward the man, who, as if his
momentary curiosity was satisfied, lay down again. He did not rise when
the lightkeeper reached his side, but remained quiet, looking up from a
pair of gray eyes and smiling slightly with lips that were blue. He was
a stranger to Atkins, a young fellow, rather good looking, dressed in
blue serge trousers, negligee shirt, blue socks, and without shoes
or hat. His garments were soaked, and the salt water dripped from his
shoulders to the sand. The lightkeeper stared at him, and he returned
the stare.

"Gosh!" repeated Seth, after an instant of silence. "Jiminy crimps! I
feel better."