"Not yet," returned Uncle William. "You'll hear it blow afore mornin'
if you stay awake to listen--though it won't sound so loud up the shore
where you be. This is the place for it. A good stiff blow and nobody on
either side of you--for half a mile." A kind of mellow enthusiasm held
the tone.

The young man smiled. "You _are_ a hermit. Suppose somebody should build
next you?"

"They can't."

"Why not?"

"I own it."

"A mile?"

The old man nodded. "Not the shore, of course. That's free to all. But
where anybody could build I own." He said it almost exultantly. "I
guess maybe I'm part Indian." He smiled apologetically. "I can't seem to
breathe without I have room enough, and it just come over me once, how
I should feel if folks crowded down on me too much. So I bought it. I'm
what they call around here 'land-poor.'" He said it with satisfaction.
"I can't scrape together money enough to buy a new boat, and it's 's
much as I can do to keep the _Jennie_ patched up and going. But I'm
comfortable. I don't really want for anything."

"Yes, you're comfortable." The young man glanced about the snug room.