Uncle William reappeared with shining face. "It seems good to hev
suthin' bigger'n a teacup to wash in," he said. "I like the hull ocean,
myself, but a tub does putty well. Now, jest let me see."

He drew up to the bed, looking at the young man with keen glance.

"Oh, I'm all right--now."

"Had a fever?"

"A little--yes."

"You all alone?"

"There's a man comes in by and by. He'll clean up and get things for
me."

Uncle William ignored the pride in the tone. "Jest roll over a little
mite. There--" He placed his broad hand under the thin back. "Feel sore
there? Kind o' hurts, don't it? I thought so--There." He laid him back
gently. "You jest wait a minute." He was fumbling at the lock that held
his box.

"Are you a doctor?" The young man was watching him with half-amused
eyes.

"Well, not a doctor exactly." Uncle William had taken out a small bottle
and was holding it up to the light, squinting through it. "But I had a
fever once, myself--kep' a-runnin'." He had come over to the bedside,
the bottle in his hand. "You got a doctor?"