He, too, rose.  Seth laid a big hand on his shoulder.

“Son,” said the lightkeeper, “I’m sorry for you; I cal’late I know how you feel.  I like you fust-rate, and if it’s a possible thing, I’ll fix it so’s you can stay right here long’s you want to.  As for women folks that do come—­why, we’ll dodge ’em if we can, and share responsibility if we must.  But there’s one thing you’ve got to understand.  You’re young, and maybe your woman hate’ll wear off.  If it does, out you go.  I can’t have any sparkin’ or lovemakin’ around these premises.”

The assistant snorted contemptuously.

“If ever you catch me being even coldly familiar with a female of any age,” he declared, “I hereby request that you hit me, politely, but firmly, with that axe,” pointing to the kindling hatchet leaning against the door post.

Seth chuckled.  “Good stuff!” he exclaimed.  “And, for my part, if ever you catch me gettin’ confectionery with a woman, I . . . well, don’t stop to pray over me; just drown me, that’s all I ask.  It’s a bargain.  Shake!”

So they shook, with great solemnity.

CHAPTER VIII

NEIGHBORS AND WASPS

And now affairs at the lights settled down into a daily routine in which the lightkeeper and his helper each played his appointed part.  All mysteries now being solved, and the trust between them mutual and without reserve, they no longer were on their guard in each other’s presence, but talked freely on all sorts of topics, and expressed their mutual dislike of woman with frequency and point.  No regular assistant was appointed or seemed likely to be, for the summer, at least.  Seth and his friend, the superintendent, held another lengthy conversation over the wire, and, while Brown’s uncertain status remained the same, there was a tacit understanding that, by the first of September, if the young man was sufficiently “broken in,” the position vacated by Ezra Payne should be his—­if he still wanted it.

“You may change your mind by that time,” observed Seth.  “This ain’t no place for a chap with your trainin’, and I know it.  It does well enough for an old derelict like me, with nobody to care a hang whether he lives or dies, but you’re different.  And even for me the lonesomeness of it drives me ‘most crazy sometimes.  I’ve noticed you’ve been havin’ blue streaks more often than when you first came.  I cal’late that by fall you’ll be headin’ somewheres else, Mr.  ‘John Brown,’” with significant emphasis upon the name.

Brown stoutly denied being “bluer” than usual, and his superior did not press the point.  Seth busied himself in his spare time with the work on the Daisy M. and with his occasional trips behind Joshua to the village.  Brown might have made some of these trips, but he did not care to.  Solitude and seclusion he still desired, and there were more of these than anything else at the Twin-Lights.