Mrs. Kew did the honors of the lighthouse thoroughly on our first visit;
but I think we rarely went to see her that we did not make some
entertaining discovery. Mr. Kew's nephew, a guileless youth of forty,
lived with them, and the two men were of a mechanical turn and had
invented numerous aids to housekeeping,--appendages to the stove, and
fixtures on the walls for everything that could be hung up; catches in
the floor to hold the doors open, and ingenious apparatus to close them;
but, above all, a system of barring and bolting for the wide "fore
door," which would have disconcerted an energetic battering-ram. After
all this work being expended, Mrs. Kew informed us that it was usually
wide open all night in summer weather. On the back of this door I
discovered one day a row of marks, and asked their significance. It
seemed that Mrs. Kew had attempted one summer to keep count of the
number of people who inquired about the depredations of the neighbors'
chickens. Mrs. Kew's bedroom was partly devoted to the fine arts. There
was a large collection of likenesses of her relatives and friends on the
wall, which was interesting in the extreme. Mrs. Kew was always much
pleased to tell their names, and her remarks about any feature not
exactly perfect were very searching and critical. "That's my oldest
brother's wife, Clorinthy Adams that was. She's well featured, if it
were not for her nose, and that looks as if it had been thrown at her,
and she wasn't particular about having it on firm, in hopes of getting a
better one. She sets by her looks, though."

There were often sailing-parties that came there from up and down the
coast. One day Kate and I were spending the afternoon at the Light; we
had been fishing, and were sitting in the doorway listening to a
reminiscence of the winter Mrs. Kew kept school at the Four Corners; saw
a boatful coming, and all lost our tempers. Mrs. Kew had a lame ankle,
and Kate offered to go up with the visitors. There were some girls and