“Yes.  Won’t the chimney soot all stick to him when he’s wet?  He’ll be a sight, won’t he?”

“Perhaps so, but he won’t mind that, either.  Now, you go to bed, Georgie, like a good boy.”

“I’m a-goin’.  Say, Aunt Thankful, will the soot come all off on my presents?”

They got him into bed at last and descended to the living-room.  The storm was worse than ever.  The wind howled and the rain beat.  Emily shivered.

“Mercy!  What a night!” she exclaimed.  “It reminds me of our first night in this house, Auntie.”

“Does; that’s a fact.  Well, I hope there’s nobody prowlin’ around lookin’ for a place to put their head in, the way we were then.  I—­what’s that?”

“What?  What, Auntie?  I didn’t hear anything.”

“I thought I did.  Sounded as if somebody was—­and they are!  Listen!”

Emily listened.  From without, above the noise of the wind and rain and surf, came a shout.

“Hi!” screamed a high-pitched voice.  “Hi!  Let me in.  I—­I’m drownin’.”

Thankful rushed to the door and, exerting all her strength, pushed it open against the raging storm.

“There’s nobody here,” she faltered.

“But—­but there is, Auntie.  I heard someone.  I—­”

She stopped, for, out of the drenched darkness staggered a figure, the figure of a man.  He plunged across the threshold, tripped over the mat and fell in a heap upon the floor.

Emily shrieked.  Mrs. Barnes pulled the door shut and ran to the prostrate figure.

“Who is it?” she asked.  “Who is it?  Are you hurt?”

The figure raised its head.

“Hurt!” it panted.  “It’s a wonder I ain’t dead.  What’s the matter with ye?  Didn’t you hear me yellin’ for you to open that door?”

Thankful drew a long breath.

“For mercy sakes!” she cried.  “Solomon Cobb!  What are you doin’ over here a night like this?”

CHAPTER XIV

Mr. Cobb slowly raised his head.  He looked about him in a bewildered way, and then his gaze fixed itself upon Mrs. Barnes.

“What—­why—­you!” he gasped.

“Eh?” stammered Thankful, whose surprise and bewilderment were almost as great as his.  “Eh?  What?”

“You?” repeated Solomon.  “What—­what are you doin’ here?”

“What am I doin’ here?  What am I doin’?”

“Yes.”  Then, after another stare about the room, he added:  “This ain’t Kenelm Parker’s house?  Whose house is it?”

“It’s my house, of course.  Emily, go and fetch some—­some water or somethin’.  He’s out of his head.”

Emily hurried to the kitchen, Thankful hastened to help the unexpected visitor to his feet.  But the visitor declined to be helped.

“Let me alone,” he roared.  “Let me be.  I—­I want to know whose house this is?”

“It’s my house, I tell you.  You ought to know whose house it is.  Land sakes!  You and I have had talk enough about it lately.  Don’t you know where you are?  What are you sittin’ there on the floor for?  Are you hurt?”