The other glanced at the horizon. "It's going to storm," he said
indifferently.

"I'll keep an eye out."

"Ye better not go."

"Think not?" He looked again at the harbor. "It's my last chance for a
sail--I'll watch out."

"All right. 'T ain't my business," said the man. He went on slitting
fish.


The harbor held a still light--ominously--grey with a tinge of yellow
in its depths. Uncle William hurried down the face of the cliff, a
telescope in his hand. Now and then he paused on the zigzag path and
swept the bay with it. The grey stillness deepened.

On the beach below, the man paused in his work to look up. As Uncle
William approached he grunted stiffly. "She's off the island," he said.
He jerked a fishy thumb toward the water.

Uncle William's telescope fixed the boat and held it. His throat hummed,
holding a kind of conversation with itself.

The man had returned to his fish, slitting in rough haste and tossing to
one side. "Fool to go out--I told him it was coming."

The telescope descended. Uncle William regarded him mildly. "I o't to