'a' kept an eye on him," he said humbly. "I didn't jest sense he was
goin'. I guess mebbe he did mention it. But I was mixin' a batch of
biscuit and kind o' thinkin' to myself. When I looked up he wa'n't
there." He slid the telescope together and slipped it into his pocket.
"I'll hev to go after him," he said.

The other looked up quickly. "How'll you go?"

Uncle William nodded toward the boat that dipped securely at anchor.
"I'll take _her_," he said.

The man laughed shortly. "The _Andrew Halloran_? I guess not!" He shut
his knife with a decisive snap and stood up. "I don't trust her--not in
such a storm as that's going to be." He waved his arm toward the harbor.
The greyness was shifting rapidly. It moved in swift green touches,
heavy and clear--a kind of luminous dread. In its sallow light the man's
face stood out tragically. "I won't resk her," he cried.

"You'll hev to, Andrew." Uncle William bent to the bow of the dory that
was beached near by. "Jump in," he said.

The man drew back a step. The hand with the clasped knife fell to his
side. "Don't you make me go, William," he said pacifically. "You can
take the boat in welcome, but don't take _me_. It's too much resk!"

"It's al'ays a resk to do your duty," said Uncle William. "Jump in. I
can't stand talkin'." An edge of impatience grazed the words.

The man stepped in and seized the oars. "I'll help get her off," he
said, "but I won't go."