Andy's eye roamed the landscape. "'T ain't reasonable," he said,
jealously. "A thing o't to be wuth more'n a picter of it. There's more
_to_ a thing." He struck the solid ground of fact with relief.

Uncle William's eye rested on him mildly. "Ye can't figger it that way,
Andy. I've tried it. A shark's bigger'n a halibut, but he ain't wuth
much--'cept for manure."

"Chowder!" The call rang down from the little house, clear and full.

Both men looked up. "_He's_ a-callin' ye," said Andrew. There was
mingled scorn and respect in the tone.

"You come on up to supper, Andy. We can talk it over whilst we're
eatin'."

Andy looked down at his clothes. "I'm all dirt."

Uncle William surveyed him impartially. "Ye ain't any dirtier 'n ye
al'ays be."

"I dunno's I be," admitted Andy.

"Well, you come right along, and after supper we'll all turn to and help
you clean."

The artist looked up as they entered. "How are you, Andy? The fish are
running great to-day."

Andy grinned feebly. "I've heard about it," he said. He drew up to the