The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1875-12-16
The Lighthouse Keeper.


ii one OF those quaint. old sentnels ot darl,
wood and larnished gliding that You some
times see on antique stairways, keeping
ghoslly guard over the tread OF genera
ton after generation, 1t WAS q trim,
compact little. clock, hanging where its
dial, like an eve, seemed to look through
the four deep set windows OF the circular
stone ROOM and watch the tides rs they
SWING back and forth murmuring dlscon-
tcntedly around the solid masonry that
upheld the lighthouse. A strange place,
drcary. desolate place 1t seemed, prison
like in its isolation, and terrific in its
trowning strength. Yet even there the
grace of woman'S presence cast It's visible
SIGN and token. Upon the pine table 4
vase Of late autumnal flowers gloWed in
velyety carmine and gold, and q round
hat. decorated with the scarlet wing OF Il
tropical bird. lay beside it,
Lucy pcnrith was looking from ore OF
the windows-a slender, pretty girl, with
touches of faint crimson on either cheek,
and violet gray eyes, where the deep
LIGHTS seemed to swim. Her black dress
was very simple; but there was tluttel
of vivid scarlet ribbon at her throat, and
II bunch Of coral-red berries in her shin
inc brown braids, bearing silent witness
to the genuine love of the picturesque
that exists in every womans heart
Il don't think the sea is very rough,
father"
Isaac penrith deliberately folded his
newspaper inside out, and commenced on
u new column lie was a hard-teatured
rugged old man, with iron-@rcy hair and
Al. ill Il.
knotted cord
I.uvy stole across the stone floor and
put her dimpled face between the printed
page and her fathers spectacles.
Now, father, You Will row me across.
Oh, father, ! never can spend Ihanksgiy-
ing evening in this dismal place, and |
promised them at the farmhouse ~
''Rash promises are better broken than
kept.n sentcntiouSly answered old Isaac.
but it was not Il rash promise, father
All the young people are To be there, and
Philip Martin"
She stopped abruptly, checked by the
dark trown that corrugated her father
brow
'ArhiIip Martin | tell you. Lucy, III
hear no more idle nonsense abont that
boy 1t was Philip Martin whose father
tried to be keeper Of the lighthouse III
my stead-a bad, black-heartcd man
and the boy is branch Of the old tree
III 90 bail. And"
But Lucy was crying, with her head on
her fathers shoulder. lsaac's heart re-
Tented within him.
"lm a cross old bear | know" he
made haste to utter. land ought to be
|. Il | 10
there I'll row ye cross. ii yc say so
'taint near dark yet, and it's ruthcr hard
on u young ga, like you to live in thi,
stone dungeon year i'll and year out.
wish | hadn't told Sam he could have The
day to himself But never mind; I'll bt
back long afore lightin' time"
Lucy frightened up like rose after
shower
"Oh father, | am so glad! DO SC
want to go"'
She tripped backward and forward and
adjusting the round hat with the scarlet
wing, folding the brown shawl, and re-
| arranging the coral berries i'll her hair
while Old Isaac, with his fur cap on, and
his hands in the pocket of his sailor coat
watched her with a proud, amused sense
OF proprietorship
''She's more like one O. them foreigf
birds than she is human critter,
thought the light house keeper. .
know Pm goin' ag'iu all rules and rcgu
| lations. leaving the place alone, but
| twont be but II few minutes, and dom
| like to dsappont the gal, her hearts Sc
kind o sot ont Eve got to be father ant
mother both to the chid-she is II goot
cal, and u pretty one, too. ii she doe.
| happen to be Isaac pcnrlth'S dalter.n
| ,rll carry the flowers over, father,
| said Lucy, removing them from the vase
and wrapping u bit of paper round the
| damp stems. There's not much left il
the farm house garden, and they'll hell
to make the Thanksgiving table gay
Now, father, I'm ready
And as Isaac Penrith pulled the shell
| like little boat out to sea, with the long
steady. vigorous strokes that betokene,
his daily habtuatiol to life on the deep
| he fell into musing remembrance OF tht
lar-away Thanksgivings of his youth
with their rains of red and golden leaves
and the ohor of sweet fern in the pas
lures, and the old red farm house among
the bleak New England hills. And un
consciously the roar Of the green, trans
lucent tides became the wall of winds il
an upland forest. and Lucy's blooming
face opposite him seemed his mother
smiling out from the mist Of years.
Nor was the salt drop on old Isaac
check the spray from his steady dripping
oars.
Lucy Penrith sprang lightly TO her fee
as the keel of the boat grated softly ol
the smooth, shining sand of the beach.
"You will walk up 10 the house will
me, father. See how high the sun isl"
Isaac stopped and secured his boat to ;
huge projecting rock by means of lool
of heavy rope.
I'm 90, he said. briefly, adding with
in himself, land if that Phil Martin
there, III bring her back with me-
don't like his father"
The old brown house stood little wa,
back on the beach, with smooth stretcI
of silvery sand in front, and cluster 0
black-green cedars in the rear, tossing
their plumy heads above in the blusterin.
salt-scented gale, and a group of merry
makers, young and old, i'll their Thanks
giving h"biliments, We're in the porcl
awaiting the arrival of the new comers.
"Oh, Lucy, we thought you were neve
coming" said bright-eyed little dam
sell whose hair was blowing about he
face like mist of rippled gold. "Wha
made you so late? And Phil Martin
Lucy's appealing, frightened glanc
stopped the half-uttered sentence short
but Isaac Penrith had caught its meaning
''Lucy," he said, drawing his daugh hte
aside as the whole group hurried merrill
into the house once more, where a fire Q
driltwood blazed redly in the huge, old
fashioned fireplace, and the sold people,
in caps and brass-buttoned suits, wer
purring around the genial glow, 'Lucy
is there anything between you and-an'
Dorr Martins son?"
She colored and turned her face away
while the tears sprang to her eyes.
Tell me-" he urged, sternly graspin!
her arm; II will have no more half-con