Uncle William

William Benslow. He spoke in a tone of satisfaction, and hit

the harbor at the changing light. There was a mysterious

patiently. "Kind o' ticklish

admitted

a-daubin' and a-scrapin', day in and day out. I shouldn't like it. Sailin' 's more in my line," he added, scanning the horizon. "You have to step lively when you do step, but there's plenty of off time

he cliff above them and then at the old boat, with its tattered maroo

rned the other. "You don't reel

not-no more t

ither?" The old man spok

uch. I have to buy canvas

costs a little, and color. I dye mine in

e said. "You teach me to trust in the Lord and I'll teach you ar

many times," he said. "Cur'us, ain't it?-ju

searched in his color-box and mixed a fresh color rapidly on the palette, transferring it s

nted at the canvas and then at the sliding water, rising and falling across the ba

ung man, with quick satisfact

us, ain't it? there's a lot

kes across the canvas. "There certainly is. I've been studying that w

" he said kindly. "You hain't been seein' it every day for sixty ye

an't see things that you can't?" demanded

ilin'," he went on-"how them artists come up here summer after summer makin' picters,-putty poor, most on 'em,-and what's the use? I can s

to do any more to-day-and that's enough." He glanced with satisfaction at the glowing canvas

and lifted the easel, knocking it a

a nod of thanks. "All ri

r the canvas, but the artist drew it back qu

y do get in a muss when there's fresh paint around. But I

xiously. "I wouldn't ris

the cliff, and with bent backs and hinged knees th