Seth bought the suit under protest, for he scoffed openly at his helper's daily bath.
"I should think," the lightkeeper declared over and over again, "that you'd had salt water soak enough to last you for one spell; a feller that come as nigh drownin' as you done!" Seth did not care for swimming; the washtub every Saturday night furnished him with baths sufficient.
He was particular to warn his helper against the tide in the inlet: "The cove's all right," he said, "but you want to look out and not try to swim in the crick where it's narrow, or in that deep hole by the end of the wharf, where the lobster car's moored.

When the tide's comin' in or it's dead high water, the current's strong there.

On the ebb it'll snake you out into the breakers sure as I'm settin' here tellin' you.

The cove's all right and good and safe; but keep away from the narrer part of the crick." Swimming was good fun, and walking, on pleasant days, was an aid in shaking off depression; but, in spite of his denials and his attempts at appearing contented, the substitute assistant realized that he was far from that happy condition.

He did not want to meet people, least of all people of his own station in life--his former station.