From the top of the bluff came a crashing and a series of yelps. Through the thicket of beachplum bushes was thrust a yellow head, fringed with torn fragments of fly paper.
“What's that?” demanded the astonished lightkeeper.
Brown looked at the whining apparition in the bushes and smiled maliciously.
“That,” he observed, “is Job.”
“JOB?”
“Yes.” From somewhere in the grove came a thrashing of branches and a frightened neigh. “And that,” he continued, “is Joshua, I presume. If there are more Old Testament patriarchs in the vicinity, I don't know where they are, and I don't care. You may hunt for them yourself. I'm going to follow your advice and mind my own business. Good by.”
He strode off up the beach. Job, at the top of the bank, started to follow, but a well-aimed pebble caused him to dodge back.
“Hold on!” roared the lightkeeper. “Maybe I made a mistake. Perhaps you wa'n't spyin' on me. Don't go off mad. I . . . Wait!”
But John Brown did not wait. He strode rapidly away up the beach. Seth stared after him. From the grove, where his halter had caught firmly in the fork of a young pine, Joshua thrashed and neighed.
“Aa-oo-ow!” howled Job, from the bushes.