"Any time. Saw is behind the chopping-block in my shed, hung on a nail,
or ought to be; and axe, I guess, is keeping the company of the block."
"I will begin to-day. There will be a comfort in knowing I am doing
something."
"That is a good spirit, young man; and let me assure you if you stick to
that style of doing things, some day you will be able to take comfort--a
lot of it."
The squire went to the window of the office when Dave had left, and
watched him cross the street in the direction of the squire's home.
"I like that young chap," murmured the squire.
Dave found the house of his employer, left word at the door that he was
sent to look after the wood, and went into the shed.
"Here is the chopping-block, and there is the axe, and the saw is all
right. I will take my tools outdoors, where my wood is," said Dave.
It was a day in early spring. Snow still clung to the corners of
gardens, and hid away under the bushes, and lay thick on the shaded side
of buildings. The sun, though, was strengthening its fires every day,
and had coaxed a few bluebirds to come north, and say that warm weather
had surely started from its southern home, and would be here in due
season, though a bit delayed, perhaps. Two hours later, Dave's axe was
striking music out of the pieces of wood the saw had first played a tune
on; and it is that kind of music that helps a man to feel independent
and self-reliant, contented and cheerful.
"Hollo! that you?" sang out a voice. "How are you, old man?"
Dave looked up, and saw Dick Pray nodding over the fence.
"The old man has found work, you see," replied Dave.
"None of that sort for me," sang out Dick.
In about half-an-hour another voice was calling to him across the garden
fence. This was not the flexible, smooth, rounded voice of youth
addressing Dave, but there were the tones of an old man. There was a
world of friendship, though, in this old man's salutation, "How d'ye do?
how d'ye do?"
Dave turned toward it, and there was the old light-keeper, Toby Tolman.
"May I come in?" asked the light-keeper, approaching the gate.
"Oh yes, sir, do! Glad to see you."
The light-keeper came up the gravelled walk, approached the pile, and
said, "How much more of a job have you got?"
"Oh, a couple of days."
"Well, then, do you want another?"
"Yes, sir. But how did you know I was here?"
"May, my granddaughter, knew, and she told me. I was at the house, you
see. My job for you is to go to the lighthouse and be my assistant.
She told me, and I said to myself, 'There's the man for me!'"
"You don't mean it! Why, where's Timothy Waters?"
"Got all through."
"His time up?"
"Well, he went before he wanted to. Wasn't just particular in reckoning
what belonged to others."
Dave recalled at once the little affair about the two pennies.
"Who's at the light now, Mr. Tolman?"
"Oh, an old hand, who is just piecing me out at this time when I need
help. He leaves day after to-morrow. Now, come! I'm up here trying to
look somebody up to be my assistant. Can't bring it about at once; but
if you'll go and stay a while I think you'll get the berth, and I don't
know of anybody I'd like better to have."
"And I should like to come, too, and I will, just as soon as I finish
this job."
"Maybe the squire would let you off now."
"I daresay."
"I'd like to take you back with me to-day."
"And I'd like to go, but I'd better finish up."
"You're right, on second thought. The squire wouldn't hesitate a
moment, I venture to say; but then people sometimes grant us favours
when at the same time they say to themselves, 'I wish they hadn't asked
me.' You stay and finish your job."
The second day after this the task was completed, the saw going to its
place on the nail behind the chopping-block, and the axe finding
quarters near by.
"There!" said the squire: "I don't know that I ever paid for a job with
greater satisfaction."
He was handling a roll of bills as he said this, and handed one of these
to Dave.
"It is too much, sir."
"Oh no. That was a peculiar pile of wood, and it took a peculiar kind
of merit to get the better of it. For ordinary wood," said the squire,
his eyes blinking, "I should only pay an ordinary price; but this wood
was something more than ordinary, and of course the price goes up. When
I can do you a favour, you let me know."
That day toward sunset a dory was gently tossing at the foot of the
lighthouse on Black Rocks.
"Hollo!" shouted Dave, looking up from the boat and aiming his voice at
the door above.
"Oh, that you?" asked the light-keeper, quickly appearing in the doorway
and looking down. "My man will be here in a jiffy and go home in your
boat, as we fixed it, you know."
Dave exchanged the boat for the lighthouse, and the retiring assistant
quit the lighthouse for the boat, then rowing to his home. Dave heard
that night the wind humming about the lantern, saw the friendly rays
beckoning from other lighthouses, heard the wash of the waves around the
gray tower of stone, and felt that he had reached a home.