'm going to walk
awhile." He spoke defiantly.

"Walk right along," said Uncle William, cheerfully.

He tottered a few steps, and held out his hand.

Uncle William chuckled. "I reckoned you'd want a lift." He placed a
strong hand under the young man's arm. They paced back and forth the
length of the deck. "Feel good?" asked Uncle William.

The young man nodded. "I shall go alone to-morrow."

"Yes, I reckon you will," soothingly. "And the further north we get,
the better you'll feel. It's cur'us about the North. The' 's suthin' up
there keeps drawin' you like a needle. I've known a man to be cured jut
by turnin' and sailin' that way when he was sick. Seem 's if he stopped
pullin' against things and just let go. You look to me a little mite
tired. I'd go below for a spell if I was you."

The young man went below and slept. When he woke he felt better,
as Uncle William had predicted. At Halifax he insisted on sending a
telegram to Sergia. After that he watched the water with gleaming face,
and when they boarded the _John L. Cann_ and the shores of Arichat
shaped themselves out of space, he was like a boy.

Uncle William leaned forward, scanning the wharf. "There's Andy!" he
exclaimed.

"Where?"

"Right there. Don't you see him--dangling his legs over the edge?"

"Hallo, Andy!" The young man's voice had a joyous note.

Andy grunted.

When they landed, he held out a limp hand. "Got any duds?" he asked
indifferently.

"There's my box and hisn and some traps down below. He's gone down to
look after 'em," said Uncle William. "Juno come back?"

"Nope."

The young man appeared on deck with his hand-bag. "How are you, Andy?"

Andy nodded.

"He says she ain't come back," said Uncle William.

"Who?"

"Juno. She must 'a' been gone as much as a week, ain't she, Andy?"

"Two weeks last night," said Andy.

"Tuh-tuh!" Uncle William's tongue expressed concern. "We'll hev to go
look for her. You goin' to row us up?"

"Guess so," said Andy.

"I thought ye'd want to. Set right there, Mr. Woodworth. Don't you mind
bein' in the way. Andy's used to it."

They rowed up through the clear light. The harbor stretched away,
gleaming, to darkness. The cliffs rose on the right, somber and waiting.
Uncle William lifted his face. The little house on the cliff caught
a gleam and twinkled. The boat grated on the beach. There was a stiff
climb up the path, with long pauses for breath. Uncle William opened the
door. He moved