The man's face cleared. "Oh, the house--a mere hut!" He dismissed it
with a wave.

Uncle William's face wore a subdued look. "It might be comf'tabul
inside," he hazarded after a silence.

The Frenchman stared again. "Comfortable? Oh, without doubt." He granted
the point in passing. "But the color in the rocks--do you see?--and the
clear light and the sky--you see how it lifts itself!" His long finger
made swift stabs here and there at the canvas. A little crowd had
gathered near.

Uncle William pushed his spectacles farther up on the tufts. His face
glowed. "The sky is all right," he said, "if ye know how to take it; but
ye wouldn't trust a sky like that, would ye?"

The Frenchman turned to him, blinking a little. His glasses had slipped
from his nose. They hung dangling from the end of the long chain. "Trust
it?" he said vaguely. "It's the real thing!"

Uncle William's face assumed an air of explanation. "It's good as far
as it goes. The' ain't anything the matter with it--not anything you
can lay your finger on--not till you get over there, a little east by
sou'east. Don't you see anything the matter over there?" He asked the
question with cordial interest.

The Frenchman held the eyeglass chain in his fingers. He swung the
glasses to his nose and stared at the spot indicated.

Uncle William regarded him hopefully.