, jest let me see."

He drew up to the bed, looking at the young man with keen glance.

"Oh, I'm all right--now."

"Had a fever?"

"A little--yes."

"You all alone?"

"There's a man comes in by and by. He'll clean up and get things for
me."

Uncle William ignored the pride in the tone. "Jest roll over a little
mite. There--" He placed his broad hand under the thin back. "Feel sore
there? Kind o' hurts, don't it? I thought so--There." He laid him back
gently. "You jest wait a minute." He was fumbling at the lock that held
his box.

"Are you a doctor?" The young man was watching him with half-amused
eyes.

"Well, not a doctor exactly." Uncle William had taken out a small bottle
and was holding it up to the light, squinting through it. "But I had a
fever once, myself--kep' a-runnin'." He had come over to the bedside,
the bottle in his hand. "You got a doctor?"

The young man shook his head. "He will come if I send for him."

Uncle William nodded. "That's the best kind." He held out the bottle.
"I'd like to give you 'bout five on 'em."

"What are they?"

"Well, that's what I don't know, but it took about five on 'em to break
up mine." He had poured one into the palm of his hand and held it out.
It was a small, roughly shaped pill, with grayish surface pitted with
black.

The young man eyed it doubtfully.

"It _don't_ look very nice," said Uncle William, "and the man that made
it never had a stitch of clothes on his back in his life; but I guess
you better take it."

The young man opened his lips. The thing slid down, leaving a sickish,
sweetish taste behind it.

Uncle William brought him a glass of water. "I know how it tastes, but I
reckon it'll do the work. Now, let's see." he stood back, surveying the
untidy room, a mellow smile on his lips. "'T is kind o' cluttered up,"
he said. "I'll jest make a path through." He gathered up a handful of
shoes and slippers and thrust them under the bed, drawing the spread
down to hid them. The cups and glasses and scattered spoons and knives
he bore away to the bath-room, and the artist heard them descending
into the tub with a sound of rushing water. Uncle William returned
triumphant. "I've put 'em a-soak," he explained. The table-spread, with
its stumps of cigars, bits of torn papers, and collars and neckties and
books and paint-brushes and tubes, he gathered up by the four corners,
dumping it into a half-open drawer. He closed the drawer firmly. "Might
's we