"I reckon it is." Uncle William scowled at the lavish table. "'Pears to
me there's suthin' I've forgot. Oh, pickles!" He said it triumphantly.
"If you wouldn't mind takin' that plate, Mr. Woodworth, and goin' down
cellar?"

"All right." The young man took the plate and disappeared down the
ladder that served as a stairway to the tiny hole beneath.

Uncle William looked cautiously at the trap-door. Then he tiptoed to the
window. He drew the glass from his pocket and pointed it at the harbor.
The boat had come to anchor just off the island. Uncle William fixed her
with his glass. "Uh-huh, jest as I thought," he said softly.

A step sounded on the ladder and he shut the glass, thrusting it into
his pocket and turning a bland, innocent face upon the room. "Does beat
all how good pickles be with fish. Set 'em right there, Mr. Woodworth.
Now we're ready."

Uncle William's chair faced the window, and as he ate his eye dropped,
now and then, to the bay below. Once it lighted with a swift gleam and
he craned his neck a little.

"What is it?" asked the artist, half turning.

"Nuthin'," said Uncle William, hastily, "nuthin'. 'T ain't wuth turnin'
your head for. I'm al'ays seein' things. Get up in the night, like
enough, and wander round the island, jest to see 'em. Go all over the
island some nights. You see a good deal that way--fust and last: little
critturs runnin' round, softlike, and the moon and stars--" Uncle
William was talking against time. His eye had lost interest in the