Zacheus finished the sentence.

“But you didn’t tell too much when you told it,” he said.  “What kind of an ark did you say?”

And then Galusha explained.  The fact that any one in creation should not know what an archaeologist was seemed unbelievable, but a fact it evidently was.  So he explained and the explanation, under questioning, became lengthy.  Primmie’s exclamations, “My savin’ soul” and “My Lord of Isrul” became more and more frequent.  Mr. Bloomer interjected a remark here and there.  At length a sound outside caused him to look out of the window.

“Here comes the old man and Martha,” he said.  “Cal’late I’d better be gettin’ back aboard.  Can’t leave Lulie to tend light all the time.  Much obliged to you, Mr. Bangs.  You’ve cruised around more’n I give you credit for.  Um-hm.  Any time you want to know about a lightship or—­or lobsterin’ or anything, I’d be pleased to tell you.  Good-day, sir.  So long—­er—­Sweet William.  See you later.”

The “Sweet William” was addressed to Primmie, of course.  The bow-legged little man, rolling from side to side like the lightship of which he talked so much, walked out of the room.  A moment later Martha Phipps and Captain Jethro Hallett entered it.

Both Miss Phipps and the light keeper seemed preoccupied.  The former’s round, wholesome face was clouded over and the captain was tugging at his thick beard and drawing his bushy eyebrows together in a frown.  He was a burly, broad-shouldered man, with a thin-lipped mouth, and a sharp gray eye.  He looked like one hard to drive and equally hard to turn, the sort from which fanatics are made.

Primmie scuttled away to the dining room.  Galusha rose.

“Good-afternoon, Captain Hallett,” he said.

Jethro regarded him from beneath the heavy brows.

“You know Mr. Bangs, Cap’n Jeth,” said Martha.  “You met this mornin’, didn’t you?”

The light keeper nodded.

“We run afoul of each other over to the graveyard,” he grunted.  “Well, Martha, I don’t know what more there is to say about—­about that thing.  I’ve told you all I know, I cal’late.”

“But I want to talk a little more about it, Cap’n Jeth.  If Mr. Bangs will excuse us we’ll go out into the dinin’ room.  Primmie’s up in her room by this time.  You will excuse us, won’t you, Mr. Bangs?  There was a little business matter the cap’n and I were talkin’ about.”

Galusha hastened to say that he himself had been on the point of going to his own room—­really he was.

Miss Martha asked if he was sure.

“You needn’t go on our account,” she protested.  “We can talk in the dinin’ room just as well as not, can’t we Cap’n Jeth?”

The captain bowed his head.  “We ain’t cal’latin’ to talk very long anyhow,” he said, solemnly.  “This is the Lord’s day, Mr. Bangs.”

Galusha hastily admitted that he was aware of the fact.  He hurried into the hall and up the stairs.  As he reached the upper landing he heard the ponderous boom of the light keeper’s voice saying, “Martha, I tell you again there’s no use frettin’ yourself.  We’ve to wait on the Lord.  Then that wait will be provided for; it’s been so revealed to me.”