“Swen!” Jeanne cried joyously. “So that is your lighthouse! That is your home!”
“Yes.” Swen grinned broadly. “Anyway, I thought it was. Since—”
“But Swen!” Jeanne broke in, “you never told me you were married. What beautiful children!”
The children beamed up at her. But not Swen. He was blushing from ear to ear.
“Children!” he exclaimed. “My children! I am but eighteen. What could you think? They are not my children. They are my brother’s. Their home is in the cabin by the lighthouse. And my home—” He hesitated, looking from face to face as if trying to read something there. “The lighthouse, it is my home. But someone, it seems, wants to tear it up. What can I think?
“When I came home last night,” he rushed on, “all is strange. The doorstep is broken. My bench by the door, it is tipped over. There are bits of cloth everywhere. And my axe, it is thrown on the ground. In the tower it is no better. The trap door, it is broken, stones are thrown down and my rope, it is gone.”
For fully a moment, when he had finished, Jeanne stared at him. Then, as in a dream, she murmured, “It was the bear.”
“No,” said Swen, “it was not the bear.”
“Come up and have a cup of coffee,” said Jeanne. She had recovered some of her composure. “Bring those beautiful children. We will have a romp with the bear. And then, then I will help you solve your riddle.” She laughed a merry laugh.