glanced with satisfaction at the glowing canvas with its touch of green.
He set it carefully to one side and gathered up his tubes and brushes.

Uncle William bent from his height and lifted the easel, knocking it
apart and folding it with quick skill.

The artist looked up with a nod of thanks. "All right," he said, "go
ahead."

Uncle William reached out a friendly hand for the canvas, but the artist
drew it back quickly. "No, no," he said. "You'd rub it off."

"Like enough," returned the old man, placidly. "I gen'ally do get in
a muss when there's fresh paint around. But I don't mind my clothes.
They're ust to it--same as yourn."

The young man laughed anxiously. "I wouldn't risk it," he said. "Come
on."

They turned to the path that zigzagged its way up the cliff, and with
bent backs and hinged knees they mounted to the little house perched on
its edge.




II

The old man pushed open the door with a friendly kick. "Go right along
in," he said. "I'll be there 's soon as I've got an armful of wood."