"It's all right, Davy," Janet nodded cheerfully.
"Course!" Davy returned the nod; "course, ye don't s'pose I'd light my lamp fust, do ye?"
"Never, Davy!"
"It's bad enough t' be napping. Like as not the government would turn me out, an' with reason, if it caught on t' that. I don't know but I ought t' confess. But Lord! I was that worn, 'long with Susan Jane's bein' more ailin' than usual, an' the thickness of the air with the shower, that arter I saw everythin' was shipshape, I guess I flopped some. I'll forgive myself this once; but if it happens again, Davy Thomas, yer'll write t' the government sure as yer born an' tell 'em what a blubber-head ye air."
Janet laughed, and stretched her arms out until she clasped David's rough hands. "I'll go up an' take a look!" said the man; "stop till I come down, Janet, I've got somethin' t' tell ye."
"I came up to tell you," the girl called after him, "that Susan Jane sent good night to you."
"She did that?" Davy paused upon the step and his face shone in the dull light. Janet nodded. Then Davy went to inspect his lamp.
"But to us He gives the keepin'
Of the lights along the shore!"
Janet smiled as the cheerful words floated back to her. Presently David returned.
"Everythin' is as it should be," he chuckled; "clear night, but changin' breeze, an' the Light doin' its proper duty! Janet, while I slept, I had the durndest dream, I can't get rid of it. I read once how the surest way to get rid of an idee was t' dump it on another."