"Why, yes, I presume likely he is. Not foolish, you understand, or even
a little bit soft like Primmie. He's shrewd enough, Zach is, but he's
peculiar, that's about it. Has a queer way of talkin' and walkin'--yes,
and thinkin'. He's put in the most of his life in out-of-the-way places,
boat-fishin' all alone off on the cod banks, or attendin' to lobster
pots way down in the South Channel, or aboard lightships two miles from
nowhere. That's enough to make any man queer, bein' off by himself so.
Why, this place of assistant light keeper here at Gould's Bluffs is
the most sociable job Zach Bloomer has had for ten years, I shouldn't
wonder. And Gould's Bluffs isn't Washington Street, exactly," she added,
with a smile.

"Have you lived here long, Miss Phipps?" inquired Galusha.

"Pretty nearly all my life, and that's long enough, goodness knows.
Father bought this place in 1893, I think it was. He was goin' coastin'
voyages then. Mother died in 1900 and he gave up goin' to sea that year.
He and I lived here together until two years ago next August; then he
died. I have been here since, with Primmie to help. I suppose likely I
shall stay here now until I die--or dry up with old age and blow away,
or somethin'. That is, I shall stay provided I--I can."

There was a change in her tone as she spoke the last words. Galusha,
glancing up, saw that she was gazing out of the window. He waited for
her to go on, but she did not. He looked out of the window also, but
there was nothing to be seen, nothing except the fields and hills, cold
and bleak in the gathering dusk. After an interval she stirred and rose
from her chair.

"Ah, well," she said, with a shrug, and a return to her usual brisk