Andrew's small eyes squinted knowingly. "Out o' season?"

Uncle William returned the look benignly. "We didn't date the
'count--just lumped 'em, so much a catch; saves trouble."

Andrew chuckled. "I've saved trouble that way myself." He made a rough
calculation. "It won't make a hunderd, all told. How you goin' to get
the rest?"

"Mebbe I shall borrow it," said Uncle William. He looked serenely at the
sky. "Like enough _he'll_ send a little suthin'," he added.

"Like enough!" said Andrew.

"He mentioned it," said Uncle William.

"He's gone," said Andrew. He gave a light _p-f-f_ with his lips and
screwed up his eyes, seeming to watch a bubble sail away.

Uncle William smiled. "You don't have faith, Andy," he said
reproachfully. "Folks do do things, a good many times--things that they
say they will. You o't to have faith."

Andrew snuffed. "When I pin my faith to a thing, Willum, I like to hev
suthin' to stick the pin into," he said scornfully.

They worked in silence. Seagulls dipped about them. Off shore the
sea-lions bobbed their thick, flabby black heads inquiringly in the
water and climbed clumsily over the kelp-covered rocks.