VI

It was Indian summer. Uncle William was mending his chimney. He had
built a platform to work on. Another man would have clung to the sloping
roof while he laid the bricks and spread the mortar. But Uncle William
had constructed an elaborate platform with plenty of room for bricks and
the pail of mortar, and space in which to stretch his great legs. It was
a comfortable place to sit and look out over Arichat harbor. Andy,
who had watched the preparations with scornful eye, had suggested an
arm-chair and cushion.

"I like to be comf'tabul," assented Uncle William. "I know I do. I don't
like to work none too well, anyhow. Might as well be comf'tabul if you
can."

The platform was comfortable. Even Andy admitted that, when Uncle
William persuaded him to climb up one day, on the pretext of advising
whether the row of bricks below the roof line would hold. It was a
clear, warm day, with little clouds floating lightly, as in summer. Andy
had climbed the ladder grumbling.

"Nice place to see," suggested Uncle William.

Andy peered down the chimney hole. "You will have to take off the top
row all around," he said resentfully.

"Ye think so, do ye? I kind o' thought so myself. They seemed sort o'
tottery. But I thought mebbe they'd hold. Sit down, Andy, sit down." He
pushed the pail of mortar a little to one side to make room.