a cordial nod. "Of course--infinite patience. And then a thing like
that!" he lifted his hand toward it slowly. It was a kind of courteous
salute--the obeisance due to royalty.

Uncle William watched it a little grudgingly. "They're putty good
rocks," he said--"without paint."

The Frenchman faced him. "Don't I know?" He checked himself. "I've not
mentioned it to you, but I was born and brought up on those rocks."

"You was!" Uncle William confronted him.

The stranger nodded, smiling affably. His long nose was reminiscent.
"I've played there many a time."

Sergia's face watched him hopefully.

Uncle William's had grown a little stern. He bent toward the stranger.
"I don't think I jest caught your name," he said slowly.

"My name is Curie," said the man, politely--"Benjamin F. Curie." He
extracted a card from his pocket and handed it to Uncle William with a
deep bow.

Uncle William pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. He drew down
the spectacles from his tufts and examined it carefully. Then he bent
and snapped it in his fingers. "I don't know no such--"

A hand was laid lightly on his arm. "Come, we must look at the other
pictures. It is almost time to go."