"What you goin' to do?" asked Andy.

"I'm going to find Uncle William," said the artist.

Andy fidgeted a little. He looked off at the water. "I wa'n't findin' no
fault," he said uneasily. "I was just explainin' why I couldn't resk any
more o' my money on him."

"That's all right," said the artist. "I want to see him."

He found Uncle William sunning the kittens at the east of the house. He
looked up with a nod as the artist appeared. "They're doin' fust-rate,"
he said, adjusting the clam-basket a little. "They'll be a credit to
their raisin'. Set down."

The artist seated himself on a rock near by. The sun fell warm on his
back. Across the harbor a little breeze ran rippling. At the foot of
the cliff Andy was making ready to lift anchor. The artist watched him a
minute. "You've wasted a good deal of money on me," he said soberly.

Uncle William looked at him. He dropped an eye to the _Andrew Halloran_.
"He been talkin' to ye?" he asked cheerfully.

"He told me you borrowed of him--"

"Now, don't you mind that a mite. Andy don't. He's proud as Punch to
hev me owe him suthin'. He reminds me of it every day or two. All I mind
about is your frettin' and takin' on so. If you'd jest be easy in your
mind, we'd have a reel comf'tabul time--with the kittens and all." He
replaced one that had sprawled over the edge. "The' 's a lot o' comfort