bay. It seemed to be fixed on the moon and stars. One ear was turned
expectantly toward the door.

The artist watched him with an amused smile. He never interrupted one of
Uncle William's monologues.

"I've spent a good deal o' my life," went on Uncle William, "lookin'
round at things."

The gravel crunched outside.

The artist started.

Uncle William turned a little. "Andy, like enough," he said. He rose and
went leisurely toward the door.

The figure of a tall man stood in it, surveying the room.

Uncle William's smile broke into radiance. It crinkled his eyes and nose
and mouth. "I said 't was you." He held out a big hand, and drew the man
into the room, peering behind him. A little look of disappointment came
over his face. "You all alone?" he demanded.

"I am at present," said the man, smiling. "I left a friend on the beach
below. I wasn't sure how I should find you." His courteous glance took
in the young man.

Uncle William turned quickly. "It's Mr. Curie," he said, "the one that
bought your picters. And he's left somebody--a friend--down below. Mebbe
you wouldn't mind stepping down and fetchin' 'em up."