"He's been acting-inspector for quite a while. But that was a temporary appointment, while the inspector was ill."
"And you're going home a couple of weeks ahead to help pack, eh?"
"Ye-es," Eric answered, "of course that's a part of it. But I'm going now because I want to see Uncle Eli before I go East. He's on Tillamook Rock, you know."
"I knew he used to be," the Eel said, "but I thought when he made that big real estate haul, he quit."
"He tried to," the boy agreed, "but he found he couldn't. Uncle Eli's an old-timer, Eel. I used to be jealous of the Tillamook Light. He's just as fond of it as he is of me, more, I think. I can quite see how he would feel that way. It's always been just like his child. He was there when the light was born."
"I mean its being born," Eric insisted. "Nearly all my people have been in the Lighthouse Service, you know. They all have that way of thinking of the lights as if they were real folks. It's something like a captain's idea about his ship. She's always alive. And lights are just as responsive. Some way, I've a bit of that same feeling myself."
"Yes," the Eel said thoughtfully, "I can see that, in a way. They do seem a bit human, don't they? And it must be deadly lonely for the keepers, out of reach of everybody, with nothing to do."
"What?" shouted Eric, so loudly that the Eel jumped. "With nothing to do?"
"Except just attend to the light," his chum said apologetically. "What else is there?"