The artist smiled. “Look here, Uncle William, you can’t fool me any longer. You’re just pining for a boat. Look at that!” He waved his hand at the water dimpling below.
Uncle William’s gaze dwelt on it fondly for a minute.
“And you sit here dawdling over that basket of kittens!” Scorn and disgust struggled in the artist’s voice.
Uncle William laughed out. He stood up. “What is ’t you want me to do?” he asked.
The artist eyed him miserably. “That’s the worst of it—I don’t know.”
“Well, I’ll tell ye,” said Uncle William. “We’ll row down and get the mail, and after that we’ll plan about the boat. I ain’t quite so daft as I look,” he said half apologetically. “I’ve been turnin’ it over in my mind whilst I’ve been doin’ the kittens, and I’ve ’bout decided what to do. But fust, we’ll get the mail.”
XXI
There was a letter for the artist. It contained a check from the Frenchman. He had bought three of the pictures—the one of Uncle William’s house and the two of the old Bodet place.
“Did you know it?” demanded the artist. He was facing Uncle William in the boat as they rowed home.