“So he has,” he laughed.  “Got it now hanging up behind his clock.  I borrowed it yesterday and had one made just like it.  I’m of age.”  This came with a sly wink, followed by a low laugh of triumph.

Lucy smiled.  She liked his daring; she liked, too, his resources.  When a thing was to be done, Bart always found the way to do it.  She waited until he had fitted the new bright key into the rusty lock, her hand in his.

“Now, come inside,” he cried, swinging wide the big doors.  “Isn’t it a jolly place?” He slipped his arm about her and drew her to him.  “See, there’s the stove with the kindling-wood all ready to light when anything comes ashore, and up on that shelf are life-preservers; and here’s a table and some stools and a lantern—­two of ’em; and there’s the big life-boat, all ready to push out.  Good place to come Sundays with some of the fellows, isn’t it?  Play all night here, and not a soul would find you out,” he chuckled as he pointed to the different things.  “You didn’t think, now, I was going to have a cubby-hole like this to hide you in where that old spot-cat Martha can’t be watching us, did you?” he added, drawing her toward him and again kissing her with a sudden intensity.

Lucy slipped from his arms and began examining everything with the greatest interest.  She had never seen anything but the outside of the house before and she always wondered what it contained, and as a child had stood up on her toes and tried to peep in through the crack of the big door.  When she had looked the boat all over and felt the oars, and wondered whether the fire could be lighted quick enough, and pictured in her mind the half-drowned people huddled around it in their sea-drenched clothes, she moved to the door.  Bart wanted her to sit down inside, but she refused.

“No, come outside and lie on the sand.  Nobody comes along here,” she insisted.  “Oh, see how beautiful the sea is!  I love that green,” and drawing Jane’s red cloak around her, she settled herself on the sand, Bart throwing himself at her feet.

The sun was now nearing the horizon, and its golden rays fell across their faces.  Away off on the sky-line trailed the smoke of an incoming steamer; nearer in idled a schooner bound in to Barnegat Inlet with every sail set.  At their feet the surf rose sleepily under the gentle pressure of the incoming tide, its wavelets spreading themselves in widening circles as if bent on kissing the feet of the radiant girl.

As they sat and talked, filled with the happiness of being alone, their eyes now on the sea and now looking into each other’s, Meg, who had amused himself by barking at the swooping gulls, chasing the sand-snipe and digging holes in the sand for imaginary muskrats, lifted his head and gave a short yelp.  Bart, annoyed by the sound, picked up a bit of driftwood and hurled it at him, missing him by a few inches.  The narrowness of the escape silenced the dog and sent him to the rear with drooping tail and ears.