Uncle William: The Man Who Was Shif'less Part 5

Uncle William smiled. "You don't have faith, Andy," he said reproachfully. "Folks do do things, a good many times--things that they say they will. You o't to have faith."

Andrew snuffed. "When I pin my faith to a thing, Willum, I like to hev suthin' to stick the pin into," he said scornfully.

They worked in silence. Seagulls dipped about them. Off sh.o.r.e the sea-lions bobbed their thick, flabby black heads inquiringly in the water and climbed clumsily over the kelp-covered rocks.

Andrew's eyes rested impa.s.sively on their gambols. "Wuthless critters,"

he said.

Uncle William's face softened as he watched them. "I kind o' like to see 'em, Andy--up and down and bobbin' and sloppin' and scramblin'; you never know _where_ they'll come up next."

"Don't need to," grumbled Andy. "Can't eat the blamed things--nor wear 'em. I tell you, Willum,"--he turned a gloomy eye on his companion,--"I tell you, you set too much store by wuthless things."

"Mebbe I do," said William, humbly.

"This one, now--this painter fellow." Andrew gave a wave of his hand that condensed scorn. "What'd you get out o' him, a-gabblin' and sailin'

all summer?"

"I dunno, Andy, as I could jest put into words," said William, thoughtfully, "what I _did_ get out o' him."

"Ump! I guess you couldn't--nor anybody else. When he sends you anything for that boat o' yourn, you jest let me know it, will you?"

"Why, yes, Andy, I'll let you know if you want me to. I'll be reel pleased to let you know," said Uncle William.

VI

It was Indian summer. Uncle William was mending his chimney. He had built a platform to work on. Another man would have clung to the sloping roof while he laid the bricks and spread the mortar. But Uncle William had constructed an elaborate platform with plenty of room for bricks and the pail of mortar, and s.p.a.ce in which to stretch his great legs. It was a comfortable place to sit and look out over Arichat harbor. Andy, who had watched the preparations with scornful eye, had suggested an arm-chair and cus.h.i.+on.

"I like to be comf'tabul," a.s.sented Uncle William. "I know I do. I don't like to work none too well, anyhow. Might as well be comf'tabul if you can."

The platform was comfortable. Even Andy admitted that, when Uncle William persuaded him to climb up one day, on the pretext of advising whether the row of bricks below the roof line would hold. It was a clear, warm day, with little clouds floating lightly, as in summer. Andy had climbed the ladder grumbling.

"Nice place to see," suggested Uncle William.

Andy peered down the chimney hole. "You will have to take off the top row all around," he said resentfully.

"Ye think so, do ye? I kind o' thought so myself. They seemed sort o'

tottery. But I thought mebbe they'd hold. Sit down, Andy, sit down." He pushed the pail of mortar a little to one side to make room.

Andy edged away. "Can't stop," he said. He was searching with his foot for the ladder.

"What you going to do?" demanded Uncle William.

Andy glanced at the sky. "I'm going to take in the _Andrew Halloran_."

He was already on his way down the ladder.

Uncle William pursued him, peering over. "You'll have to have me to help ye, Andy. Can't you jest wait till to-morrow--till I get my chimbley done?"

"You've been a month now," said Andy. He was glowering at the bay and the little boat bobbing below.

"I know it, Andy, I know it." Uncle William was descending the ladder with slow care. "But I don't want my mortar to freeze, and I'm kind o'

'fraid of its comin' off cold again to-night. I was jest goin' to begin to hurry up. I was goin' to begin to-day."

"I can get along without you," said Andrew, doggedly.

"Why, no, you can't, Andy. How you goin' to haul her up?" Uncle William spoke reproachfully.

Andy moved away. "I can do it, I guess." He was mumbling it to his teeth. "I don't need anybody's help."

With a sigh and a look of affection at the platform and the pail and the blue sky above, Uncle William followed him down the rocky path.

They worked busily all the morning, towing in the _Andrew Halloran_, cleaning her up and stowing away tackle, making her ready for the winter.

In the afternoon Uncle William mounted the roof again. His face, under its vast calm, wore a look of resolve. He looked thoughtfully down the chimney hole. Then he sat down on the platform and took up his trowel.

He balanced it on his palm and looked at the pile of bricks. His gaze wandered to the sky. It swept the bay and came back across the moors.

A look of soft happiness filled it; the thin edges of resolve melted before it. "Best kind of weather," murmured Uncle William, "best kind--"

His eye fell on the pile of bricks and he took up one, looking at it affectionately. He laid it in place and patted down the mortar, rumbling to himself.

When Andy came by, half an hour later, three bricks were in place. Uncle William nodded to him affably. "Where goin', Andy?"

"How much you got done?" demanded Andy.

Uncle William looked at it thoughtfully. "Well, there's quite a piece.

Comin' up?" he said hopefully.

"It don't show any."

"No, it don't show much--yet. It's kind of down below.--Think we're goin' to have a change?" The tone was full of hopeful interest.

Andy nodded. "Freeze inside of twenty-four hours."

Uncle William scanned the horizon.

"When you calculatin' to finish?" asked Andy.

"Well, I was thinkin' of finis.h.i.+n' to-night."

Andy's gaze sought the sun.

Uncle William took up another brick.

Andy seated himself on a rock. He had done a good day's work. His conscience was clear; and then William worked better when Andy was around, and Andy took pride in it. "Where'd you get your bricks?" he asked.

Uncle William looked at the one in his hand. "I wheeled them over from the Bodet cellar-place. The' 's quite a pile left there yet."

"They all good?"