e again."

"Well, I hev."

"I don't mean that way. Sit down." He looked feebly for a chair.

Uncle William had drawn one up to the bed. He sat down, bending forward
a little. One big hand rested on the young man's wrist. "Now, tell me
all about it," he said quietly.

The artist raised his eyes with a smile. He drew a deep breath.
"Yes--you've come," he said. "You've come."

"I've come," said Uncle William. His big bulk had not stirred. It seemed
to fill the room.

The sick man rested in it. His eyes closed. "I've wanted--you."

Uncle William nodded. "Sick folks get fancies," he said.

"--and I kept seeing you in the fever--and you--" The voice droned away
and was still.

Uncle William sat quiet, one hand on the thin wrist. The galloping pulse
slowed--and leaped again--and fluttered, and fell at last to even beats.
The tense muscles relaxed. The parted lips closed with a half-smile.

Uncle William bent forward, watching it. In the dim light of the room,
his face had a kind of gentleness--a kindliness and bigness that watched
over the night and reached out beyond it to the ends of the earth.

X

In the morning the big form was still there. The artist turned to it as
he opened his eyes. "You are not gone!"

"Gone? Land, no!" Uncle William sat up from a cat-nap, rubbing his
eyes and blinking a little. "I cal'ate to stay quite a spell yet." He
stretched his great legs slowly, first one and then the other, as if
testing them.

Reproach filled the artist's eyes. "You've not lain down all night!"

"Didn't need to," said Uncle William. He got to his feet briskly. "I
slep' a good deal comin' down in the boat. There wa'n't a great deal
goin' on. If you've got a little water and soap handy, I reckon I could
use it."

The artist half started to get up, but a firm hand held him back. "Now,
stay right there. You jest tell me where things be--"

He pointed to a door at the left. "You won't find it in very good order,
I'm afraid."

"Don't you mind." Uncle William had disappeared through the doorway. "It
won't bother me a mite." His voice came back sociably. "I'm considabul
ust to havin' things mussed up."

The artist lay with a smile, listening to the sounds that came through
the half-open door--thumping and blowing and splashing.

Uncle William reappeared with shining face. "It seems good to hev
suthin' bigger'n a teacup to wash in," he said. "I like the hull ocean,
myself, but a tub does putty well. Now