“Why, yes, I presume likely he is.  Not foolish, you understand, or even a little bit soft like Primmie.  He’s shrewd enough, Zach is, but he’s peculiar, that’s about it.  Has a queer way of talkin’ and walkin’—­yes, and thinkin’.  He’s put in the most of his life in out-of-the-way places, boat-fishin’ all alone off on the cod banks, or attendin’ to lobster pots way down in the South Channel, or aboard lightships two miles from nowhere.  That’s enough to make any man queer, bein’ off by himself so.  Why, this place of assistant light keeper here at Gould’s Bluffs is the most sociable job Zach Bloomer has had for ten years, I shouldn’t wonder.  And Gould’s Bluffs isn’t Washington Street, exactly,” she added, with a smile.

“Have you lived here long, Miss Phipps?” inquired Galusha.

“Pretty nearly all my life, and that’s long enough, goodness knows.  Father bought this place in 1893, I think it was.  He was goin’ coastin’ voyages then.  Mother died in 1900 and he gave up goin’ to sea that year.  He and I lived here together until two years ago next August; then he died.  I have been here since, with Primmie to help.  I suppose likely I shall stay here now until I die—­or dry up with old age and blow away, or somethin’.  That is, I shall stay provided I—­I can.”

There was a change in her tone as she spoke the last words.  Galusha, glancing up, saw that she was gazing out of the window.  He waited for her to go on, but she did not.  He looked out of the window also, but there was nothing to be seen, nothing except the fields and hills, cold and bleak in the gathering dusk.  After an interval she stirred and rose from her chair.

“Ah, well,” she said, with a shrug, and a return to her usual brisk manner, “there isn’t a bit of use in makin’ today to-morrow, is there, Mr. Bangs?  And today’s been nice and pleasant, and they can’t take it from us.”

Galusha looked very much surprised.  “Why, dear me, dear me!” he exclaimed.  “That’s extremely odd, now really.”

“What?”

“Why, your—­ah—­remark about making to-day to-morrow.  Almost precisely the same thing was said to me at one time by another person.  It is quite extraordinary.”

“Oh, not so very, I guess.  A million folks must have thought it and said it since Adam.  Who said it to you, Mr. Bangs?”

“A—­ah—­person in Abyssinia.  He had stolen my—­ah—­shirt and I warned him that he should be punished on the following day.  He laughed and I asked him what there was to laugh at.  Then he made the remark about to-morrow’s being afar off and that today the sun shone, or words to that effect.  It seems strange that you should say it.  Quite a coincidence, Miss Phipps, don’t you think so?”

“Why—­why, I suppose you might call it that.  But what did you say this man had stolen?”

“My—­ah—­shirt.  I had another, of course; in fact I was wearing it, but the one he took was the only whole one remaining in my kit.  I was quite provoked.”