The door of the light keeper’s cottage swung open with a bang.  A voice roared across the night.

“Lulie!” shouted Captain Jethro.  “Lulie!”

The Bangs’ story broke off in the middle.  Its narrator and his young companion turned startled faces toward the sound.

“Lulie!” bellowed Captain Jeth, again.  “Lulie!”

Lulie answered.  “Why, yes, father,” she said.  “I am right here, at the gate.  Why are you shouting so?  What is the matter?”

The captain seemed much surprised.  He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the lamplight in the room behind him.

“Hey?” he queried.  “Where be you?  You ain’t right there at the gate, are you?”

“Why, yes, of course I am.”

“Humph! . . .”  Then, with renewed suspicion, “Who’s that with you?”

“Mr. Bangs.  I ran over to Martha’s for a minute or two, and he walked home with me.”

“Good-evening, Captain Hallett,” hailed Galusha.  Captain Jethro pulled his beard.

“Humph!” he grunted.  “Humph!  Mr. Bangs, eh? . . .  Humph!  I thought—­ Cal’late I must have fell asleep on the sofy and been dreamin’. . . .  Humph! . . .  Lulie, you better come in now, it’s chilly out here.  Mr. Bangs can come, too, I suppose likely—­if he wants to.”

It was not the most cordial of invitations and Galusha did not accept it.

“I must get back to the house, Captain,” he said.  “It is chilly, as you say.  No doubt he is right, Lulie.  You mustn’t stay.  Good-night.”

“But, Mr. Bangs, you haven’t finished your story.”

“Eh?  Dear me, so I haven’t.  Well—­”

“Lulie!” Captain Jethro’s voice was fretful.  “Lulie, you come along in now.  I want you.”

Lulie shook her head resignedly.  “Yes, father,” she replied, “I’m coming this minute.  You see?” she whispered.  “He is getting back all the impatience and—­and strangeness that he had last fall.  It is that dreadful spirit business.  Oh, dear!”

Galusha softly patted her shoulder.  “I won’t finish my story,” he said, in a low tone.  “It isn’t necessary, because I can tell you the—­ah—­moral, so to speak, and that will do as well.  We found those tombs at last by doing a thing which, we were all sure, was the worst thing we could possibly do.  It turned out to be that ‘worst thing’ which saved us.  And—­and I wish you would think that over, Lulie,” he added, earnestly.  “It looked to be the very worst thing and—­and it turned out to be the best. . . .  Ah—­good-night.”

But she detained him.  “I don’t understand, Mr. Bangs,” she said.  “What do you mean?  You said you were going to tell me the moral of your story.  That isn’t a moral, is it?”

“Eh?  No—­ah—­no.  I suppose it isn’t.  But—­but you think it over, to please me, you know.  A—­a something which looked to be the worst that could happen was the miracle that gave us our tombs.  Perhaps the—­perhaps what you dread most may give you yours.  Not your tomb; dear me, no!  I hope not.  But may be the means of—­of saving the situation.  There, there, I must go.  Good-night.”