the shelf, and was brushing
it up, whistling softly. "You must 'a' smoked a good deal," he said,
rapping out the ashes. "I've been sweepin' 'em up ever since I come."

"I did. It helped me forget."

"It didn't help you get well, I reckon," said Uncle William. "What you
need," he added, "is fresh air and wind--and rocks."

The artist mused. "It would seem good."

The old man had paused in his work. "Will you go--to-morrow?"

The artist looked about him, hesitating. "I couldn't get ready--"

"_I'll_ get ye ready."

"We might--in a week?"

"I can't wait," said Uncle William, decisively. "I've got to look up
Juno. She'll like enough get desperate--drown herself the first thing I
know. _I'm_ goin' to start to-morrow. If you want to go along, I'll pack
ye up."

The young man looked at him helplessly. "I can't get along without you.
You know I need you."

"Yes, I know you need me," said Uncle William. "I kind o' counted on
that." He began to pack vigorously, emerging now and then out of the
dust and clatter to beam on the young man. "Now, don't you worry a mite.
You're goin' to get well and earn money and come back and pay her, and
everything's comin' out all right."

In the afternoon tickets arrived from Sergia. There was a line with
them, asking Uncle William to call for her, at eight, that evening. The
artist looked at the tickets a little enviously. "I should like to go,
myself," he said. "It's the first view." He glanced at Uncle William
appealingly.

The old man ignored it. "You couldn't go, noways," he said; "not if
we're goin' to start to-morrow."

The artist sighed. He was sitting in an arm-chair, wrapped in a blanket,
a pillow behind his head. "I don't suppose I could." He sighed again.

Uncle William looked at him keenly. "The' 's a good deal of leg-work to
an exhibit, ain't they?"

"Yes." The artist smiled faintly.

Uncle William nodded. "I thought so. Well, it's all _you_ can do to
set in a chair with a piller behind you. I wouldn't say no more about
picters if I was you." He took down the mirror and laid it between two
cushions, holding it in place while he reached for the knot. "I don't
suppose you have the least idee how you look," he said. "I cal'ate to
have you look a sight better'n that 'fore Sergia sees you."

The artist's face flushed. "Give me the glass."

Uncle William shook his head. "I've got to hustle to get these things
done." He drew the sailor's knot firmly in place. "I cal