he fond tackle and sobbin' against his vest.

"There, there!" says he, pattin' her soothin'. "We all make our
mistakes, old and young; only us old fellows ought to know better."

"But--but they aren't daubs!" sobs out Edith. "And--and you said they
were, without even seeing them."

"Just like me," says he. "And I'm no judge, anyway. But perhaps I'd
better take a look at some of them. How would that be, eh? Couldn't
Tupper bring a couple of them down now?"

"Oh, may he?" says Edith, brightenin' up and turnin' off the sprayer.
"I have wished that you could see them, you know."

So Tupper is sent for a couple of paintings, and Brooks chases along to
bring down two more. They ranges 'em on chairs, and wheels Uncle Jeff
into a good position. He squints at 'em earnest and tries hard to work
up some enthusiasm.

"Ferryboats, sugar refineries, and the North River," says he. "All
looks natural enough. I suppose they're well done too; but--but see
here, young man, couldn't you find anything better to paint?"

"Where?" says Brooks. "You see, I was able to get out only
occasionally without----"

"I see," says Uncle Jeff. "Tied to a cranky old man in a wheel chair.
But, by George! I could take you to places worth wasting your paint
on. Ever heard of Yangarook? There's a pink mountain there that rises
up out of a lake, and on still mornings--well, you ought to see it! I
pitched my camp there once for a fortnight. I could find it again.
You go in from Boola Bay, up the Zambesi, and through the jungle. Then
there's the Khula Klaht valley. That's in the Himalayas. Pictures?
Why, you could get 'em there!"

"I've no doubt I could, Sir," says Brooks. "I've dreamed of doing
something like that some day, too. But what's the use?"

"Eh?" says Uncle Jeff, almost standin' up in his excitement. "Why not,
my boy? I could take you there, chair or no chair. Didn't I go in a
litter once, halfway across Africa, when a clumsy Zulu beater let a
dying rhino gore me in the hip? Yes, and bossed a caravan of sixty
men, and me flat on my back! I'm better able to move now than I was
then, too. And I'm ready to try it. Another year of this, and I'd be
under the ground. I'm sick of being cooped up. I'm hungry for a
breath of mountain air, for a glimpse of the old trails. No use taking
my guns; but you could lug along your painting kit, and Edith could
take care of both of us. We could start within a week. What do yo