Uncle William

e, flashing monotonously. Then he glanced at the harbor and at the two sailboats bobbing and pulling their ropes. He was tired with a long strain of work. The summer was almost done. For

on color and bigness-simplicity. "They will call it my third style," said the artist, smiling, as he worked.

and corded. To-morrow he was going. To-day he would re

ng fish. "Pretty steady work," he

t. "Everything's steady-that

yebrows lifted

fish. "Ye can't earn money stan'in

He did not remove the hands. The fingers found a f

sweeping his red knife toward the cliff. "He

son?" asked the artist. The t

m more tolerantly. "

odded. "I'm

and a little there. Why, what Willum Benslow'

es

s foolish-plumb foolish." He rested his arms on his legs, leaning forward. "How much

ds. It glowed-a riot of color, green and red, cool against t

obody'd believe it. He paid me five hunderd do

t him genially. "We

. He had returned to his fish. "It ain't rig

o for a sail,"

orizon. "It's going to sto

eep an

tter n

t the harbor. "It's my last ch

business," said the man.

cle William hurried down the face of the cliff, a telescope in his hand. Now and then

s Uncle William approached he grunted stiffly. "She's off th

at and held it. His throat hummed, hol

g in rough haste and tossing to one side.

ense he was goin'. I guess mebbe he did mention it. But I was mixin' a batch of biscuit and kind o' thinkin' to myself. When I

d up quickly. "

boat that dipped securely at a

in such a storm as that's going to be." He waved his arm toward the harbor. The greyness was shifting rapidly. It moved in swift green

m bent to the bow of the dory that wa

s side. "Don't you make me go, William," he said pacifically. "You c

Uncle William. "Jump in. I can't stand talk

the oars. "I'll help get her o

rotesquely. He gave a shove to the boat and sprang in. "I guess you'll go,

face to the light. Far to the east a boat crawled a

lloran and sprang on board. They worked in swift silence, hoisting the anchor, letting out the sa

, glared at him defiantly. "If she

e and tend the sheet, An

The low sail caught the breeze and stiffened to it. The boat came round to the wi

heet, closer, closer-hugging the wind with tense grasp. About them, the water flattened like a plate beneath the flood. When the rain shifted a second they saw it, a gray-white floor, stretching as far as the eye could reach. Uncle William bent to it,

rneath them, and over. The boat, towering on each wave, dropped from its crest like a ball. Andy, crouching on the bottom of the boat, held on like grim deat

bent far to the right, gazed to the east. Slowly his face lightened. He drew his big hand down

ed to the sail, untying a second

ul rain blew past. But the force of the storm was gon

make it, Andy," he said quietly. "We'll make it yet if the Jennie holds ou

I tell you!" He sprang back, jamming the til

responded to its touch. She rose like a bird and

something bobbed-

Andy," said U

His indifference had washed from him, like a husk, in that center of terror. His eyes l

reat bird in her course. Nearer she came and nearer, circling with white wings that opened and closed sile

of the boat where he lay, the old man's head, round and smooth, like a boulder, stood out again

Uncle William, "roll him o