They worked busily all the morning, towing in the _Andrew Halloran_,
cleaning her up and stowing away tackle, making her ready for the
winter.

In the afternoon Uncle William mounted the roof again. His face, under
its vast calm, wore a look of resolve. He looked thoughtfully down the
chimney hole. Then he sat down on the platform and took up his trowel.
He balanced it on his palm and looked at the pile of bricks. His gaze
wandered to the sky. It swept the bay and came back across the moors.
A look of soft happiness filled it; the thin edges of resolve melted
before it. "Best kind of weather," murmured Uncle William, "best kind--"
His eye fell on the pile of bricks and he took up one, looking at it
affectionately. He laid it in place and patted down the mortar, rumbling
to himself.

When Andy came by, half an hour later, three bricks were in place. Uncle
William nodded to him affably. "Where goin', Andy?"

"How much you got done?" demanded Andy.

Uncle William looked at it thoughtfully. "Well, there's quite a piece.
Comin' up?" he said hopefully.

"It don't show any."

"No, it don't show much--yet. It's kind of down below.--Think we're
goin' to have a change?" The tone was full of hopeful interest.

Andy nodded. "Freeze inside of twenty-four hours."