above the bed as he handed it to the young man. "That's four," he said
soothingly. "Jest about one more'll fix ye."

The young man swallowed it almost grudgingly. He lay back upon the
pillow. "I can pay her the money sometime." His gaunt eyes were staring
into the dark. "But I can never make up to her for the way I treated
her."

"Mebbe she didn't mind," said Uncle William, non-committally. "Sometimes
they don't."

"Mind? She couldn't help minding. I was a fiend to her. I did everything
but strike her."

A smile grew, out of the dark, in Uncle William's face. "I was thinkin'
about that ol' chief," he said slowly--"the one that give me the pills.
I treated him--why, I treated him wuss 'n anything. 'Course, he wa'n't
like white folks; but I was fightin' crazy with the fever, not sick
enough to go to bed, but jest sittin' around and jawin' at things.
I dunno _how_ he come to take such a likin' to me. Might 'a' been on
account o' my size--we was about the same build. I'd set and jaw at him,
callin' him names. Don't s'pose he understood half of 'em, but he
could see plain enough I was spittin' mad. He'd kind o' edge up to me,
grinnin' like and noddin', and fust thing I knew, one day, he'd fetched
a pill and made me take it. I was mad enough to 'a' killed him easy, but
'fore I could get up to do it, I fell asleep somehow. And when I woke up
I felt different. _You_ feel different, don't you?"

The artist smiled through the soft dark. "I would like to get down on my
knees."