Uncle William | Page 5

"So he keeps the anchorage and right of way and
you look after his boat. I don't see but he's fairly well fixed."
"Yes, he's putty well fixed," said the old man, slowly. "'S fur as /this/
world's goods go Andy is comf'tably provided for." His eyes twinkled a
little, but most of the big face was sober. "We've been neighbors, Andy
'n' me, ever sence we was boys," he said. "I guess there ain't a mean
thing about Andy that I don't know, and he the same about me. I should
feel kind o' lonesome nights not to hev his boat to look after--and know,
like as not, in the mornin' he'll come down, cussin' and swearin' 'cause
she wa'n't fixed jest right." He peered into the kettle on the stove.
"'Most empty." He filled it from the pail by the sink, and resumed his
seat, stretching his great legs comfortably. Juno sprang from the lounge
and perched herself on his knee. He tumbled her a little, in rough
affection, and rubbed his big fingers in her neck. She purred loudly,
kneading her claws with swift strokes in the heavy cloth. He watched
her benignly, a kind of detached humor in his eyes. "Wimmen folks is a
good deal alike," he remarked dryly. "They like to be comf'tabul."
"Some of them," assented the artist.
The old man looked up with a swift twinkle. "So-o?" he said.
The artist sat up quickly. The locket swayed on its chain and his hand
touched it. "What do you mean?" he said.
"Why, nuthin', nuthin'," said Uncle William, soothingly. "Only I
thought you was occupied with art and so on--"?
"I am."
Uncle William said nothing.

Presently the artist leaned forward. "Do you want to see her?" he said.
He was holding it out.
Uncle William peered at it uncertainly. He rose and took down the
spectacles from behind the clock and placed them on his nose. Then he
reached out his great hand for the locket. The quizzical humor had gone
from his face. It was full of gentleness.
Without a word the artist laid the locket in his hand.
The light swung down from the lamp on it, touching the dark face. The
old man studied it thoughtfully. On the stove the kettle had begun to
hum. Its gentle sighing filled the room. The artist dreamed.
Uncle William pushed up his spectacles and regarded him with a
satisfied look. "You've had a good deal more sense'n I was afraid you'd
have," he said dryly.
The artist woke. "You can't tell--from that." He held out his hand.
Uncle William gave it up, slowly. "I can tell more'n you'd think,
perhaps. Wimmen and the sea are alike--some ways a good deal alike.
I've lived by the sea sixty year, you know, and I've watched all kinds of
doings. But what I'm surest of is that it's deeper'n we be." He chuckled
softly. "Now, I wouldn't pertend to know all about her,"--he waved his
hand,--"but she's big and she's fresh--salt, too--and she makes your
heart big just to look at her--the way it ought to, I reckon. There's
things about her I don't know," he nodded toward the picture. "She may
not go to church and I don't doubt but what she has tantrums, but she's
better'n we be, and she-- What did you say her name was?"
"Sergia Lvova."
"Sergia Lvova," repeated the old man, slowly, yet with a certain ease.
"That's a cur'us name. I've heard suthin' like it, somewhere--"
"She's Russian."

"Russian--jest so! I might'n' known it! I touched Russia once, ran up to
St. Petersburg. Now there's a country that don't hev breathin' space. She
don't hev half the sea room she'd o't to. Look at her--all hemmed in and
froze up. You hev to squeeze past all the nations of the earth to get to
her--half choked afore you fairly get there. Yes, I sailed there once, up
through Skager Rack and Cattegat along up the Baltic and the Gulf of
Finland, just edging along--" He held out his hand again for the locket,
and studied it carefully. "Russian, is she? I might 'a' known it," he said
nodding. "She's the sort--same look-- eager and kind o' waitin'." He
looked up. "How'd you come to know her? You been there?"
"In Russia? No. She's not there now. She's in New York. She lives
there."
"Is that so? Poor thing!" Uncle William looked at the pictured face with
compassion.
The artist smiled. "Oh, it's not so bad. She's happy."
"Yes, she's happy. I can see that easy enough. She's the kind that's goin'
to be happy." He looked again at the clear, fearless eyes. "You couldn't
put her anywheres she wouldn't sing--"
"She /does/ sing. How did you know?"
Uncle William's eyes