Little Cherry Blossom herself seemed a bit nervous, for her next message was given with a trifle less assurance.  It was an incoherent repetition and re-repetition of the word “daughter” and something about “looking out” and “danger.”

Captain Jethro caught at the word.

“Danger?” he queried.  “Danger for Lulie?  Is that what you mean, Julia?  I’m to look out on account of danger comin’ for Lulie?  Is that it, Julia?”

Lulie made one more desperate plea.

“Father,” she begged, “please don’t!  Of course there isn’t any danger for me.  This is so ridiculous.”

“Be still, I tell you. . . .  Is that it, Julia?  Is it?” Little Cherry Blossom with some hesitation indicated that that was it.  A rustle of excitement stirred the circle.

“What kind of danger?” demanded the light keeper, eagerly.  “Can’t you tell me that, Julia?”

Apparently she could not, for there was no reply.  The captain tried to help by suggestion.

“Danger from—­from her bein’—­er—­hurt?” he suggested.  “Being run over—­or—­or—­drowned or somethin’?”

No, that was not it.

“Danger from somebody—­some person?”

“Yes.”  Another rustle of excitement in the circle.  The light keeper caught his breath.

“Julia,” he demanded, “do you mean that—­that our girl’s in danger from some—­some man?”

“Father!  I won’t stand this.  It’s perfectly—­”

“Lulie Hallett, you set down!  Set down!”

Martha Phipps laid a hand upon the girl’s arm.  “Don’t excite him,” she whispered.  “I’d sit down if I were you, Lulie.”

Lulie, trembling with indignation, subsided under protest.  Little Cherry Blossom burst out with a gush of gibberish concerning some man, “bad, wicked manee,” who was trying to influence “daughter” in some way or other, just how was not particularly intelligible.  Captain Jethro offered another suggestion.

“Julia,” he demanded, “is it the outsider, the small, dark man you said afore?  Is it him?”

Yes, it was.  The rustle in the circle was now so pronounced as to amount almost to a disturbance.  Mr. Abel Harding whispered audibly, “It’s Nelson Howard she means, don’t she?” His wife even more audibly ordered him to “shut up, for the land sakes.”  Primmie dropped the mouth organ on the floor with a metallic clatter.  Startled, she made her customary appeal to the ruler of Israel.

“It’s him, eh?” growled the light keeper.  “I thought so.  I’ve got my eye on him, Julia, and he knows it.  What’s he up to now?  Where is he?”

“Near her.”

“Near her?  Here? . . .  In this house, do you mean?”

A moment’s hesitation, and then, “Ye-es, I—­I shouldn’t wonder.”

This bit of information, even though unusually qualified considering its spirit source, caused a genuine sensation.  Almost every one said something.  Zach Bloomer whistled shrilly in Mr. Bangs’ ear and said, “Godfreys!” Galusha said, “Oh, dear me!” with distressful emphasis.  Martha Phipps and Lulie clutched each other and the latter uttered a faint scream.  Primmie Cash, who had stooped to pick up the dropped harmonica, fell on her knees beside it.  Captain Jethro stamped and roared for silence.