ng good sketch--and you may have it and welcome."

Andy drew back a step. "You mean--"

"I'll give it to you, yes." The artist was holding it out laughingly.
"And some day you'll sit for me again. That'll be pay enough."

Andy rubbed his hands carefully on the sides of his trousers. He reached
them out for the canvas. "It's kind o' wet," he said. "I'll have to hold
it keerful." He took it in both hands, beaming upon it with a kind of
somber joy. Carrying it at arm's-length, he bore it away over the rocks.
The artist watched the stern, angular figure loom against the sky and
dip down over the cliff out of sight.

"I shall do a sketch of him some day that will make us famous," he said
quietly.

"It's time for dinner," responded Uncle William.

XXIV

Uncle William set the table, with one eye on the harbor. As he pottered
about with the bread and cheese and salmon, a smile widened his round
face.

The artist looked up from the brushes he was cleaning at the door. "You
look as happy as if you'd had a fortune left you," he said.

"Well, I'm considabul contented. I gen'ally am, ain't I?" he added
quickly.

"So-so," admitted the young man. "You're shiftless, that's what's the
matter with you."

Uncle William gave his long, low chuckle. "I guess I be," he said
softly. "I guess I be. But I do take a sight o' comfort."

The young man finished the brushes and brought them in, standing them up
in a quart cup. "Dinner ready?" he asked.

"I reckon it is." Uncle William scowled at the lavish table. "'Pears to
me there's suthin' I've forgot. Oh, pickles!" He said it triumphantly.
"If you wouldn't mind takin' that plate, Mr. Woodworth, and goin' down
cellar?"

"All right." The young man took the plate and disappeared down the
ladder that served as a stairway to the tiny hole beneath.

Uncle William looked cautiously at the trap-door. Then he tiptoed to the
window. He drew the glass from his pocket and pointed it at the harbor.
The boat had come to anchor just off the island. Uncle William fixed her
with his glass. "Uh-huh, jest as I thought," he said softly.

A step sounded on the ladder and he shut the glass, thrusting it into
his pocket and turning a bland, innocent face upon the room. "Does beat
all how good pickles be with fish. Set 'em right there, Mr. Woodworth.
Now we're ready."

Uncle William's chair faced the window, and as he ate his eye dropped,
now and then, to the bay below. Once it lighted with a