girls were rather glad when the wagons drove in at the gateway of the Stone place.
Immediately around the house the owner had coaxed some grass to grow—at an expense, so Jennie said, of about "a dollar a blade." But everywhere else was the sand—cream-colored, yellow, gray and drab, or slate where the water washed over it and left it glistening.
The entrance was at the rear; the bungalow faced the cove, standing on a ridge which as has been before said continued far out to the lighthouse.
"And a woman keeps the light. Her husband kept it for many, many years; but he died a year ago and the government has continued her as keeper. She's a nice old lady, is Mother Purling, and she can tell stories, too, that will make your hair curl!"
"I'm going over there right away," declared Mary, who had begun to be her old self again. "Mine is as straight as an Indian's."
"A woman alone in a lighthouse! isn't that great?" cried Helen.
"She is alone sometimes; but there is an assistant keeper. His name is Crab—and that's what he is!" declared Heavy.
"Oh, I can see right now that we're going to have great fun here," observed Madge.
This final conversation was carried on after
