I was very fond of my strange home, and would not have changed it for
any other. Many people would have thought it dull, for we seldom saw a
strange face, and the lighthouse men were only allowed to go on shore
for a few hours once in every two months. But I was very happy, and
thought there was no place in the world like our little island.

Close to the tower of the lighthouse was the house in which I and my
grandfather lived. It was not a large house, but it was a very pleasant
one. All the windows looked out over the sea, and plenty of sharp sea
air came in whenever they were opened. All the furniture in the house
belonged to the lighthouse, and had been there long before my
grandfather came to live there. Our cups and saucers and plates had the
name of the lighthouse on them in large gilt letters, and a little
picture of the lighthouse with the waves dashing round it. I used to
think them very pretty when I was a boy.

We had not many neighbours. There was only one other house on the
island, and it was built on the other side of the lighthouse tower. The
house belonged to Mr. Millar, who shared the care of the lighthouse with
my grandfather. Just outside the two houses was a court, with a pump in
the middle, from which we got our water. There was a high wall all
round this court, to make a little shelter for us from the stormy wind.

Beyond this court were two gardens, divided by an iron railing. The
Millars' garden was very untidy and forlorn, and filled with nettles,
and thistles, and groundsel, and all kinds of weeds, for Mr. Millar did
not care for gardening, and Mrs. Millar had six little children, and had
no time to look after it.