He struck a match, and it went out; he tried another, with the same result.

Mrs.Bascom fidgeted.
"Mercy on us!" she cried; "what DOES ail the thing ?" Seth's trembling fingers could scarcely hold the third match.

He raked it across the whitewashed wall and broke the head short off.
"Thunder to mighty!" he snarled, under his breath.
"But what DOES--" "What does?
What do you s'pose?
You ain't the only one that's got nerves, are you ?" The next trial was successful, and the lantern was lighted.

With it in his hand, he turned and faced his caller.

They looked at each other.
Mrs.Bascom drew a long breath.
"It is you," she said.