'a' took 'em by the scruff o' the neck and thrown 'em down and set on
'em--one apiece. And I dunno's that'd be much better'n fightin'--settin'
on 'em one apiece."

The artist laughed out.

Uncle William beamed on him. "You see, this is the way I figger it:
Russia and Japan wa'n't fightin' so much for anything they reely wanted
to _git_. It was suthin' _in_ 'em that made 'em go for each other, tooth
and nail, and pommel so--a kind o' pizen bubbling and sizzling inside
'em; we've all got a little of it." He smiled genially. "It has to work
out slow-like. Some does it by fightin' and some does it by prayin'; and
I reckon the Lord's in the fightin', same as in the prayin'."

The artist looked at him curiously. "Some people call that the devil,
you know."

Uncle William cleared his throat. He picked up a little stone and
balanced it thoughtfully on the palm of his hand. Then he looked up with
a slow smile. "I ain't so well acquainted with the devil as I ust to
be," he said. "I ust to know him reel well; ust to think about him when
I was out sailin'--figger how to get ahead of him. But late years I'd
kind o' forgot--He's livin' still, is he?"

The artist laughed quietly. "They say so--some of them."

Uncle William's smile grew wider and sweeter. "Well, let him live. Poor
old thing! 'T won't hurt none, and he _is_ a kind o' comfort to lay
things on when you've been, more'n usual, cussed. That's the _Andrew
Halloran_ over there to the left." He pointed to a dusky boat that was