n't leave here, not till you've
built over there on the old cellar place." He waved his hand toward the
horizon. "I'll help ye build," he exclaimed. "They ain't nuthin' I like
better'n potterin' around and tellin' folks what to do. I can't fish
till the _Jennie's_ done and I'll turn to and help. The' 's a girl I can
get to do the work. She's a good cook, and she'll come down and do for
us--be glad to." He rubbed his hands, beaming upon his guest.

The Frenchman stroked the gray fur with slow touch. "I might take the
young man's place," he said thoughtfully.

Uncle William paused. "Lord! I'd clean forgot--I feel about twelve
year old," he added apologetically. "But don't you worry. This house'll
stretch. We three'll get along all right in it."

"And Sergia?" said the man, with a smile.

Uncle William rubbed his head. "Um--I'd forgot _her_, too."

The man laughed out. "You don't need to worry. I'm going to lend them my
yacht for a trip."

"Both on 'em?" asked Uncle William. His puzzled face gazed at the man.

"Yes."

Uncle William stared. Then the light dawned. "Right off?" he demanded.

"Right off," said the man. "And when they come back, the house will be
ready for them."

Uncle William glowed. "They goin' to live with you?"

"I hope so."

"Well, well!" He rubbed his great knees thoughtfully with either hand.
"I wouldn't ever 'a' thought o' that. And the Lord himself couldn't 'a'
planned anything better 'n that."

"Thank you," said the man, smiling.

"Jest the right thing," went on Uncle William. "And byme-by there'll be
little toddlers--gettin' over the rocks between here and there."

"Yes."

"And settin' by the fire, warmin' their toes and eatin' tarts jest the
way we used to."

"Just the same," said the man.

Uncle William mused thoughtfully. The light of flitting memories was in
his face.

The man on the lounge watched him through the high-perched glasses.
Presently he took off the glasses and rubbed them on his handkerchief.
Then he blew his nose.

Uncle William looked up. The smile on his face was beautiful and tender
and full of light. "Where be they?" he said.

XXV

They were standing by a great rock at the foot of the cliff. The
afternoon had slipped away and the harbor was full of changing light,
but the artist's back was turned to it. He was looking into two little
round mirrors of light. Perhaps he saw the harbor reflected there. He
saw everything else--the whole round wor