last little golden sliver of sun disappeared behind the point, and
the lighthouse on the Headland came out suddenly, though it was
still quite light, and began to wink--two long flashes and two short
ones.

"Isn't it queer," Jerry said, "to think that people are there and we
can't possibly tell them."

"It's worse than queer," I said.

Then we were still again, till presently Jerry said:

"Do you hear that funny noise, Chris?"

I had been listening to it just then, and said "Yes" and that I
supposed it was the horrid noise the water made around on the other
side. For quite a time we didn't hear it, and then Jerry said:

"There it is again! The water must suck into those echoey hollows.
It sounds almost like a person groaning."

"Don't!" I said.

All at once he turned toward me and said in a queer, quick voice:

"Do you suppose it could possibly be Greg?"

I can't describe the way I felt when he said it, but if you've ever
felt the same you know what I mean. It was a little as though
something heavy dropped from my throat down to my toes, through me,