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Updated: June 11, 2025
Them lights out there are Eastboro Twin-Lights. I'm the keeper of 'em. My name's Atkins, Seth Atkins." "Delighted to meet you, Mr. Atkins. And tremendously obliged to you, besides." "You needn't be. I ain't done nothin'. Let me see, you said your name was " "Did I?" The young man seemed startled, almost alarmed. "When?" Seth was embarrassed, but not much.
Already he had turned his horse's head toward Eastboro, and was driving off. The lawyer stood still, amazedly looking after him. Then he went into the house and spent the next quarter of an hour trying to call the Twin-Lights by telephone. As the northeast wind had finished what the northwest one had begun and the wire was down, his attempt was unsuccessful.
All he heard was the moan of distant foghorns and the whistling of the gusts in trees somewhere at his left. There were pine groves scattered all along the bluffs on the Eastboro side, so this did not help him much except to prove that the shore was not far away. He pulled harder on the right oar. Then he stopped once more to listen.
At any rate, he must get to Judge Gould's before Emeline and her brother-in-law left there. What he should do when he arrived and found them there was immaterial; he must get there, that was all. Eastboro Back Harbor was left behind, and the long stretch of woods beyond was entered.
"Don't you call me that!" "Bascom " The inventor was thoroughly frightened, and his voice rose almost to a shout. The lightkeeper's wrath vanished at the sound of the name. If any native of Eastboro, if the depot master on the other side of the track, should hear him addressed as "Bascom," the fat would be in the fire for good and all.
This poetically named channel twisted and wound tortuously inland through salt marshes and between mudbanks, widening at last to become Eastboro Back Harbor, a good-sized body of water, with the village of Eastboro at its upper end. In the old days, when Eastboro amounted to something as a fishing port, the mackerel fleet unloaded its catch at the wharves in the Back Harbor.
Companionship in a lonely spot like Eastboro Twin-Lights is a test of a man's temper. Brown stood the test well. If he made mistakes in the work and he did make some ridiculous ones he cheerfully undid them when they were pointed out to him.
Not that anybody ever comes here for you to mention it to, but I wouldn't want . . . You see, nobody in Eastboro or anywheres on the Cape knows where I come from, and so . . . Oh, all right, all right. I know you ain't the kind to talk. Mind our own business, that's the motto you and me cruise under, hey?"
He regarded the section of Eastboro before him with condescending scorn, and then, catching sight of the doleful figure on the baggage truck, strolled over and addressed it. "I say, my friend," he observed briskly, "have you a match concealed about your person? If so, I " He stopped short, for Mr.
And, more than all, he respected his companion's desire to remain a mystery. Brown decided that Atkins was, as he had jokingly called him, a man with a past. What that past might be, he did not know or try to learn. "Mind your own business," Seth had declared to be the motto of Eastboro Twin-Lights, and that motto suited both parties to the agreement.
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