"Pa's goin' t' cook, an' Mark's goin' t' run the business," added Davy.
"Well, they'll have good cooking." Janet smiled as she thought of the scheme. "Maybe they'll let me wait upon table."
"Like as not they will if ye want t'. Well, 't ain't any more than fair, ye consarned little trap, but that ye should do yer turn at waitin' on Mark. Sho! just hear that gale, will ye! It's steered round an' is comin' straight off sea. By gum! If any craft drifts on t' the bar t'-night there's goin' t' be spry dancin' at the Station." Davy went to the window, and peered out. The early afternoon was bitterly cold, and darkened by wind-driven clouds, full of storm and fury.
"They've got an extra hand, such as it is." Janet came and stood close by Davy.
"Who?" he asked.
"James B. He went on with John Thomas."
"Did, did he? Well, by gum! Janet, I wish to thunder I could get Billy to give up the Life Crew an' take Mark's place here!"
"Why, Davy?" There was intensity and pathos in the question, and trouble in the gentle eyes.
"'Cause!" vouchsafed Davy, "jest 'cause. That's why. Fetch me a bite in the lamp, Janet, 'long 'bout sundown. I ain't comin' down, once I go up this afternoon. I ain't lookin' fur trouble. 'T ain't my way, but somehow, when such a night as this is like t' be settles down, it don't seem anythin' more'n friendly fur me t' bear the Light company."
So Janet cleared the dinner away; she found little tasks to fill the darkening hours, and with eagerness prepared the tray for Davy and took it aloft at sundown. By that time the wind was almost a hurricane; and before it were driven sharp sheets of snow that cut and sounded as they sped madly landward. The tower swayed perceptibly. Davy's face was grimly careworn, and his manner forbade sociability.