"Just a minute," he observed. "Don't you think I had better move to
a less conspicuous apartment? The door is open, and if any of your
neighbors should happen by--any ladies, for instance, I--"

"Ladies!" Mr. Atkins regarded him frowningly. "In the fust place, there
ain't a neighbor nigher'n four miles; and, in the next, I'd have you
understand no women come to this house. If you knew me better, young
feller, you'd know that. Set where you be."

The nightshirt was one of the lightkeeper's own, and, although Seth was
a good-sized man, it fitted the castaway almost too tightly for comfort.
However, it was dry and warm and, by leaving a button or two unfastened
at the neck, answered the purpose well enough. The stranger was piloted
to the bedroom, assisted into the depths of a feather bed, and covered
with several layers of blankets and patchwork quilts.

"There!" observed Seth, contentedly, "now you go to sleep. If you get to
sweatin', so much the better. 'Twill get some of that cold water out of
you. So long!"

He departed, closing the door after him. Then he built a fire in the
range, got breakfast, ate it, washed the dishes and continued his
forenoon's work. Not a sound from the bedroom. Evidently the strange
arrival had taken the advice concerning going to sleep. But all the time
he was washing dishes, rubbing brass work or sweeping, Mr. Atkins's
mind was busy with the puzzle which fate had handed him. Occasionally he
chuckled, and often he shook his head. He could make nothing out of
it. One thing only was certain--he had never before met a human being
exactly like this specimen.