urveyed the
table. He drew up his chair. "Well, it's ready," he said, "such as it
is."

"That's all airs, Uncle William," said the young man, drawing up. "You
know it's fit for a king."

"Yes, it's good," said the old man, beaming on him. "I've thought a good
many times there wa'n't anything in the world that tasted better
than chowder--real good clam chowder." His mouth opened to take in a
spoonful, and his ponderous jaws worked slowly. There was nothing gross
in the action, but it might have been ambrosia. He had pushed the big
spectacles up on his head for comfort, and they made an iron-gray bridge
from tuft to tuft, framing the ruddy face.

"There was a man up here to Arichat one summer," he said, chewing
slowly, "that e't my chowder. And he was sort o' possessed to have me go
back home with him."

The artist smiled. "Just to make chowder for him?"

The old man nodded. "Sounds cur'us, don't it? But that was what he
wanted. He was a big hotel keeper and he sort o' got the idea that if he
could have chowder like that it would be a big thing for the hotel. He
offered me a good deal o' money if I'd go with him--said he'd give
me five hunderd a year and keep." The old man chuckled. "I told him I
wouldn't go for a thousand--not for two thousand," he said emphatically.
"Why, I don't s'pose there's money enough in New York to tempt me to
live there.

"Have you been there?"

"Yes, I've been there a good many times. We've put in for repairs and
one thing and another, and I sailed a couple of years between there and
Liverpool once. It's a terrible shet-in place," he said suddenly.

"I believe you're right," admitted the young man. He had lighted his
pipe and was leaning back, watching the smoke. "You _do_ feel shut
in--sometimes. But there are a lot of nice people shut in with you."

"That's what I meant," he said, quickly. "I can't stan' so many folks."

"You're not much crowded here." The young man lifted his head. Down
below they could hear the surf beating. The wind had risen. It rushed
against the little house whirlingly.

The old man listened a minute. "I shall have to go down and reef her
down," he said thoughtfully. "It's goin' to blow."

"I should say it _is_ blowing," said the young man.

"Not yet," returned Uncle William. "You'll hear it blow afore mornin'
if you stay awake to listen--though it won't sound so loud up the shore
where you be. This is the place for it. A good stiff blow and nobody on
e