fire, shaking it off.

"It's goin' to blow all right," he said, nodding to the artist.

"And it's raining. You're wet."

"Well, not _wet_, so to speak." He took off his hat, shaking it lightly
over the stove. A crackling and fine mist rose from the hot drops. Juno
lifted her head and yawned. She purred softly. The old man hung his hat
and coat on the wooden pegs behind the door and seated himself by the
stove, opening wide the drafts. A fresh blaze sprang up. The artist
leaned forward, holding out his hands to it.

"You were gone a good while," he said. The locket had slipped from his
fingers and hung lightly on its steel chain, swinging a little as he
bent to the fire.

The old man nodded. "I see the _Andrew Halloran_ had dragged her anchor
a little, as I went out, and I stopped to fix her. It took quite a
spell. I couldn't find the extry anchor. He'd got it stowed away for'ard
somewheres, and by the time I found it she was driftin' putty bad. I
found a good bottom for her and made things fast before I left. I reckon
she'll hold."

"Won't he be down himself to look after her?"

"Mebbe not. It's a goodish step, from his place, down and back. He knows
I keep an eye out for her.

"Why doesn't he anchor up there," said the artist, "near by?"