X

In the morning the big form was still there. The artist turned to it as
he opened his eyes. "You are not gone!"

"Gone? Land, no!" Uncle William sat up from a cat-nap, rubbing his
eyes and blinking a little. "I cal'ate to stay quite a spell yet." He
stretched his great legs slowly, first one and then the other, as if
testing them.

Reproach filled the artist's eyes. "You've not lain down all night!"

"Didn't need to," said Uncle William. He got to his feet briskly. "I
slep' a good deal comin' down in the boat. There wa'n't a great deal
goin' on. If you've got a little water and soap handy, I reckon I could
use it."

The artist half started to get up, but a firm hand held him back. "Now,
stay right there. You jest tell me where things be--"

He pointed to a door at the left. "You won't find it in very good order,
I'm afraid."

"Don't you mind." Uncle William had disappeared through the doorway. "It
won't bother me a mite." His voice came back sociably. "I'm considabul
ust to havin' things mussed up."

The artist lay with a smile, listening to the sounds that came through
the half-open door--thumping and blowing and splashing.