“You must have dreamed it,” retorted the lighthouse keeper. “No visitors allowed. Don’t make me tell you again!”
Penny retreated, decidedly crushed.
“You asked for it, kitten,” Louise teased as they walked toward the car. “I don’t blame the keeper for not wanting visitors.”
“Mrs. Deline was there,” Penny insisted stubbornly. “Why should he deny it?”
Half way to the car, the girls paused to pick up a few large shells lying in the deep sand. The task became an absorbing one. Before they realized it, the sun was high overhead and their faces were being burned by the direct rays.
“Let’s go,” Louise urged. “The tide turned a long while ago. We should be returning to the hotel.”
“Okay,” Penny agreed. She stooped to pick up another shell. As she straightened, she observed an old man in ragged clothing coming down the beach.
“Lou,” she said in a low tone, “there’s that same man Mr. Emory was telling us about!”
“The beachcomber?” Louise turned to stare.
“Yes, and he’s coming this way. Perhaps it might be worth while to watch him.”