Then Seth sprung the news that he had a “sort of helper” already.  “He’s a likely young chap enough,” admitted the lightkeeper, whispering the words into the transmitter, in order that the “likely young chap” might not hear; “but he’s purty green yet.  He wants the reg’lar job and, give me time enough, I cal’late I can break him in.  Yes, I’m pretty sure I can.  And it’s the off season, so there really ain’t no danger.  In a month he’d be doin’ fust-rate.”

“Who is he?  Where did he come from?” asked the superintendent.

“Name’s Brown.  He come from—­from off here a ways,” was the strictly truthful answer.  “He used to be on a steamboat.”

“All right.  If you’ll take a share of the responsibility, I’ll take the rest.  And, as soon as I can, I’ll send you a regular man.”

“I can’t pay you no steady wages,” Seth explained to his new helper.  “Salaries come from the gov’ment, and, until they say so, I ain’t got no right to do it.  And I can’t let you monkey with the lights, except to clean up around and such.  If you want to stay a spell, until an assistant’s app’inted, I’ll undertake to be responsible for your keep.  And if you need some new shoes or stockin’s or a cap, or the like of that, I’ll see you get ’em.  Further’n that I can’t go yet.  It’s a pretty poor job for a fellow like you, and if I was you I wouldn’t take it.”

“Oh, yes, you would,” replied Brown, with conviction.  “If you were I, you would take it with bells on.  Others may yearn for the strenuous life, but not your humble servant.  As for me, I stay here and ’clean up around.’”

And stay he did, performing the cleaning up and other duties with unexpected success and zeal.  Atkins, for the first day or two, watched him intently, being still a trifle suspicious and fearful of his “substitute assistant.”  But as time passed and the latter asked no more questions, seemed not in the least curious concerning his superior, and remained the same cool, easy-going, cheerful individual whom Seth had found asleep on the beach, the lightkeeper’s suspicions were ended.  It was true that Brown was as mysterious and secretive as ever concerning his own past, but that had been a part of their bargain.  Atkins, who prided himself on being a judge of human nature, decided that his helper was a young gentleman in trouble, but that the trouble, whatever it might be, involved nothing criminal or dishonest.  That he was a gentleman, he was sure—­his bearing and manner proved that; but he was a gentleman who did not “put on airs.”  Not that there was any reason why he should put on airs, but, so far as that was concerned, there was no apparent reason for the monumental conceit and condescension of some of the inflated city boarders in the village.  Brown was not like those people at all.