The Life-saving Station was very still. Nos. 3 and 5 had gone out on the eight-o'clock patrol. The seventh man was taking his twenty-four hours off at his home on the shore. The keeper was working over his report in the office. The other members of the crew were up-stairs asleep, and Abe and Samuel were bearing each other company in the mess-room.

Abe lay asleep on the carpet-covered sofa which had been dragged out of the captain's room for him, so that the old man need not spend the night in the cold sleeping-loft above. He was fully dressed except for his boots; for he was determined to conform to the rules of the Service, and sleep with his clothes on ready for instant duty.

"Talk erbout him a-dyin'!" growled Samuel to himself, lounging wearily in a chair beside the stove. "He's jest startin' his life. He's a reg'lar hoss. I didn't think he had it in him."

Samuel's tone was resentful. He was a little jealous of the distinction which had been made between him and Abe; and drawing closer to the fire, he shivered in growing distaste for the cot assigned to him with the crew up-stairs, where the white frost lay on the window-latches.

What uncomfortable chairs they had in this station! Samuel listened to the mooing of the breakers, to the wind rattling at the casements,—and wondered if Blossy had missed him. About this time, she must be sitting in her chintz-covered rocker, combing out the ringlets of her golden-white hair in the cheery firelight.

Now, that would be a sight worth seeing! Abe opened his mouth and began to snore. What disgusting, hideous creatures men were, reflected Samuel. Six months' living with an unusually high-bred woman had insensibly raised his standards.

Why should he spend a week of his ever-shortening life with such inferior beings, just for Abraham's sake—for Abraham's sake, and to bear out a theory of his own, which he had already concluded a mistake?

Abe gave a snort, opened his eyes, and muttered sleepily: "This is what I call a A No. 1 spree. Naow, ter-morrer—" But mumbling incoherently he relapsed into slumber, puffing his lips out into a whistling sound.

Samuel reached for a newspaper on the table, folded it into a missile, and started to fling it into the innocent face of the sleeper. But, fortunately for Abraham, it was Captain Darby's custom to count ten whenever seized by an exasperated impulse, and at the ninth number he regretfully dropped the paper.

Then he began to count in another way. Using the forefinger of his right hand as a marker, he counted under his breath, "one" on his left thumb, then after a frowning interval, "two" on his left forefinger, "three" on the middle digit, and so on, giving time for thought to each number, until he had exhausted the fingers of his left hand and was ready to start on the right.

Count, count, went Samuel, until thrice five was passed, and he began to be confused.

Once more Abe awoke, and inquired if the other were trying to reckon the number of new wigwags and signals which the Service had acquired since they had worked for the government; but on being sharply told to "Shet up!" went to sleep again.

What the projector of the trip was really trying to recall was how many times that day he had regretted saving Abe from the devastating clutches of the old ladies.

"Him need hardenin'?" muttered Samuel blackly. "Why, he's harder now 'n nails an' hardtack!"

Again he ran over on his fingers the list of high crimes and misdemeanors of which Abe had been guilty.

First,—thumb, left hand,—Abe had insisted on extending their scooter sail until he, Samuel, had felt his toes freezing in his boots.

Second,—forefinger, left hand,—on being welcomed by the entire force at Bleak Hill and asked how long they expected to stay, Abe had blurted out, "A hull week," explaining that Samuel's rule requiring at least seven days of exile from his wife every six months barred them from returning in less time.

The keeper was a widower, all the other men bachelors. How could they be expected to understand? They burst into a guffaw of laughter, and Abe, not even conscious that he had betrayed a sacred confidence, sputtered and laughed with the rest.

Samuel had half a mind to return to-morrow, "jest to spite 'em." Let's see, how many days of this plagued week were left? Six. Six whole twenty-four hours away from Blossy and his snug, warm, comfortable nest.

She wasn't used to keepin' house by herself, neither. Would she remember to wind the clock on Thursday, and feed the canary, and water the abutilon and begonias reg'lar?

Grimly Samuel took up offense No. 3. Abraham had further told the men that he had been brought over here for a hardening process; but he was willing to bet that if Samuel could keep up with him, he could keep up with Samuel.

Then followed offense on offense. Was Samuel to be outdone on his own one-time field of action by an old ladies' darling? No!

When Abe sat for a half-hour in the lookout, up in the freezing, cold cupola, and did duty "jest to be smart," Samuel sat there on top of his own feet, too.

When Abe helped drag out the apparatus-cart over the heavy sands for the drill, Samuel helped, too. And how tugging at that rope brought back his lumbago!

When Abe rode in the breeches-buoy, Samuel insisted on playing the sole survivor of a shipwreck, too, and went climbing stiffly and lumberingly up the practice-mast.

Abraham refused to take a nap after dinner; so did Samuel. Abe went down to the out-door carpenter-shop in the grove, and planed a board just for the love of exertion. Samuel planed two boards and drove a nail.

"We've got two schoolboys with us," said the keeper and the crew.

"Ef I'd a-knowed that yew had more lives 'n my Maltese cat," Samuel was muttering over Abe by this time, "I'd—"

Count, count went Captain Darby's fingers. He heard the keeper rattling papers in the office just across the threshold, heard him say he was about to turn in, and guessed Samuel had better do likewise; but Samuel kept on counting.

Count, count went the arraigning fingers. Gradually he grew drowsy, but still he went over and over poor Abe's offenses, counting on until of a sudden he realized that he was no longer numbering the sins of his companion; he was measuring in minutes the time he must spend away from Blossy and Twin Coves, and the begonias, and the canary, and the cat.

What would Blossy say if she could feel the temperature of the room in which he was supposed to sleep? What would Blossy say if she knew how his back ached? Whatever would Blossy do to Abe Rose if she could suspect how he had tuckered out her "old man?"

"He's a reg'lar hoss," brooded Samuel. "Oh, my feet!" grabbing at his right boot. "I'll bet yer all I got it's them air chilblains. That's what," he added, unconsciously speaking aloud.

Abe's lids slowly lifted. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. He turned his head on his hard, blue gingham-covered pillow, and stared sleepily at the other.

"Yew been noddin', Sam'l? Ain't gittin' sleepy a'ready, are yer?" He glanced at the clock. "Why, it's only half past nine. Say, what's the matter with me an' yew goin' west ter meet No. 5? Leetle breath o' fresh air 'll make us sleep splendid."

He started up from the couch, but dropped back, too heavy with weariness to carry off his bravado. Samuel, however, not noticing the discrepancy between speech and action, was already at the door leading up-stairs.

"Yew don't drag me out o' this station ter-night, Abe Rose. Yew 're a reg'lar hoss; that 's what yew be. A reg'lar hoss! A reg'lar—a reg'lar—"

He flung open the door and went trudging as fast as his smarting feet could carry him up the steep and narrow steps, wherein the passing of other feet for many years had worn little hollows on either side.

Abraham limped from the couch to the door himself, and called after him:

"Sam'l, don't yew want tew sleep by the fire? Yew seem a leetle softer than I be. Let me come up-stairs."

There was no answer beyond the vicious slamming of Samuel's boots upon the floor above.

Abe raised his voice again, and now came in answer a roar of wrath from the cot next to Samuel's.

"Go to bed!" shouted No. 6, a burly, red-headed Irishman. "Go to bed, wid ye! Th' young folks do be nadin' a little schlape!"