and a teaspoon. I want that biggest there--second one--and a teaspoon.
We'll have things fixed up fust-rate here."

Far into the night the artist watched the ruddy room. Gleams from the
fire darted up the wall and ran quivering along the red. Outside the
wind struck the house and beat upon it and went back, hoarse and slow.

Down the beach the surf boomed in long rolls, holding its steady beat
through the uproar. When the wind lulled for a moment the house creaked
mysteriously, whispering, and when the gale returned a sound of flying
missiles came with it. Now and then something struck the roof and
thudded to the ground with heavier crash.

About three o'clock Uncle William's round face was thrust through
the crack of the door. "You can go to sleep all right, now," he said
soothingly. "There wa'n't but seven bricks left in the chimney, anyhow,
and the last one's jest come down. I counted 'em fallin'."




IV

The artist stood on the beach, his hands in his pockets. Near by, seated
on a bit of driftwood, a man was cleaning fish. For a few minutes the
artist watched the swift motion of the knife, flashing monotonously.
Then he glanced at the harbor and at the two sailboats bobbing and
pulling their ropes. He was tired with a long strain of work. The summer
was almost done. For weeks--since the night of the big storm--he had
worked incessantly. A new light had come over things,--"The light that