"You can come in, but there isn't any one at home but me."
The boys followed the owner of the voice into a room at the end of the hall, which was upon the farther side of the house. It might have been a pleasant room in a sunny day; but being very plainly furnished, with no books, pictures, or papers about, and only lighted by a small kerosene-lamp, while the wind and waves howled without, it seemed to Johnny a rather dull place for a girl to stay in alone.
Felix stared at the girl, while she looked bashfully at the boys, saying,—
"It's too bad you've got lost, and such a bad night too! I thought it was pretty lonesome staying here by myself, such a windy night; but it would be worse to be lost, out of doors. Only, there are two of you. If I had another girl here, perhaps I shouldn't be lonely at all. Sit down, won't you? I'd get you some supper, only I don't know as my aunt would like it. I suppose, if you're lost, you haven't had any supper. I guess I could let you have some pilot-bread, anyway."
"What I want to know first," replied Felix, "is how you come to be here. I was told last summer that no one lived here except the lighthouse-keeper and his boy; and now you're here, and you tell about your aunt."
"My mother died last spring, and I came to live here. And my uncle got married again last winter, and that's the way I came to have an aunt here. But Andrew isn't here now: he's gone smacking."
"Smacking!" exclaimed Johnny. "What's smacking?"
"Why, he's gone off fishing for mackerel in a smack."
"Oh! I know what that is," explained Felix; "it's a fishing-vessel; I believe it has one mast, but is a good deal larger than a sail boat."
"Do you like to stay here?" inquired Johnny, casting another glance about the dreary apartment.