And then he became aware that from somewhere, apparently from the heavens above, a voice was shouting—­yes, roaring—­his name.

“Mr. Bangs! . . .  Hi-i, Mr. Bangs!”

Galusha came out of his walking dream, stared about him, found that he had walked almost to the fence surrounding the light keeper’s home and would have collided with that fence in another stride or two, looked around, down, and finally up—­to see Captain Jethro leaning over the iron rail surrounding the lantern room at the top of the lighthouse.

“Oh!  Why—­ah—­good gracious!” he exclaimed.  “Were you calling me, Captain Hallett?”

Captain Jethro shook his big head.  “Callin’!” he repeated.  “I’ve been bellerin’ like the foghorn for five minutes.  A little more of it and I’d have run out of steam or bust a b’iler, one or t’other.  Ain’t been struck deef, have you, Mr. Bangs?”

“No—­ah—­no, I trust not.  I was—­ah—­thinking, I presume, and I did not hear you.  I’m very sorry.”

“That’s all right.  Glad you was only thinkin’ and no worse.  I didn’t know but you’d been struck by walkin’ paralysis or somethin’.  Say,” he leaned further over the rail and lowered his voice.  “Say,” he said again, “would you mind comin’ up here a minute?  I want to talk to you.”

Mr. Bangs did not mind and, entering the round tower, he climbed the spiral stair to the little room at the top.  The great lantern, with its glittering facets and lenses filled that room almost entirely, and the light keeper’s great form filled it still more.  There was scarcely space for little Galusha to squeeze in.

Jethro explained that he had been cleaning the lantern.  “It’s Zacheus’ job really,” he observed, “but I have to do it myself once in a while to keep it shipshape.  Say,” he added, opening the door which led to the balcony, “look out yonder.  Worth lookin’ at, ain’t it?”

It was.  The morning was dry and clear, a brisk wind from the west, and not a cloud.  The lighthouse, built as it was upon the knoll at the edge of the bluff, seemed to be vastly higher than it actually was, and to tower far above all else until the view from its top was almost like that from an aeroplane.  The horizon swept clear and unbroken for three quarters of a circle, two of those quarters the sharp blue rim of the ocean meeting the sky.  The white wave-crests leaped and twinkled and danced for miles and miles.  Far below on the yellow sand of the beach, the advancing and retreating breakers embroidered lacy patterns which changed constantly.

“Worth looking at, ain’t it?” repeated the captain.

Galusha nodded.  “Indeed it is,” he said, with emphasis.  Yet it surprised him slightly to find the gruff old light keeper enthusiastic concerning a scene which must be so very much a matter of course to him.