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 young men who stood on the rocks awhile, and then asked us, with much better manners than the people who usually came, if they could see the lighthouse, and Kate led the way.  She was dressed that day in a costume we both frequently wore, of gray skirts and blue sailor-jacket, and her boots were much the worse for wear.  The celebrated Lancaster complexion was rather darkened by the sun.  Mrs. Kew expressed a wish to know what questions they would ask her, and I followed after a few minutes.  They seemed to have finished asking about the lantern, and to have become personal.

“Don’t you get tired staying here?”

“No, indeed!” said Kate.

“Is that your sister down stairs?”

“No, I have no sister.”

“I should think you would wish she was.  Aren’t you ever lonesome?”

“Everybody is, sometimes,” said Kate.

“But it’s such a lonesome place!” said one of the girls.  “I should think you would get work away.  I live in Boston.  Why, it’s so awful quiet! nothing but the water, and the wind, when it blows; and I think either of them is worse than nothing.  And only this little bit of a rocky place!  I should want to go to walk.”

I heard Kate pleasantly refuse the offer of pay for her services, and then they began to come down the steep stairs laughing and chattering with each other.  Kate stayed behind to close the doors and leave everything all right, and the girl who had talked the most waited too, and when they were on the stairs just above me, and the others out of hearing, she said, “You’re real good to show us the things.  I guess you’ll think I’m silly, but I do like you ever so much!  I wish you would come to Boston.  I’m in a real nice store,—­H——­’s, on Winter Street; and they will want new saleswomen in October.  Perhaps you could be at my counter.  I’d teach you, and you could board with me.  I’ve got a real comfortable room, and I suppose I might have more things, for I get good pay; but I like to send money home to mother.  I’m at my aunt’s now, but I am going back next Monday, and if you will tell me what your name is, I’ll find out for certain about the place, and write you.  My name’s Mary Wendell.”

I knew by Kate’s voice that this had touched her.  “You are very kind; thank you heartily,” said she; “but I cannot go and work with you.  I should like to know more about you.  I live in Boston too; my friend and I are staying over in Deephaven for the summer only.”  And she held out her hand to the girl, whose face had changed from its first expression of earnest good-humor to a very startled one; and when she noticed Kate’s hand, and a ring of hers, which had been turned round, she looked really frightened.