The young man took out a small leather case and handed it to him, without speaking. Uncle William received it in his big, careful fingers, and adjusted his glasses before he bent to it. Andy sat silent, with grudging, watchful eye, and the young man let his glance wander about the room. Juno, seated in the sunshine, blinked a little. Then she rose and moved toward the cupboard door and snuffed the crack. She seated herself beside it, turning a reproachful, indifferent eye in Uncle William’s direction. Andy, from across the room, glared at her. The young man’s eye had followed her with half-cynical smile. Uncle William looked up from the leather case and pushed up his glasses. “You’ve got a good wife, Mr. Mason.” “I know about it,” said the young man quietly. He stood up, holding out his hand for the case. Uncle William beamed helplessly at the baby—handing it back. The young man replaced the case in his pocket without comment, but the comers of his smile softened a little—as if in spite of judgment. “Well, now, you want to look round a little, don’t ye?” said Uncle William, standing up, “‘Seems a pity to hev to—things are kind of cluttered up so—if I’d known you was comin’ I’d ’a’ had ’em fixed up.” The young man’s face broke a little. “I don’t doubt it,” he said. Uncle William chuckled. “You’re used to havin’ ’em fixed up for you, I suppose?—Well—let’s see. I’ll tell you the best places to look.... The’s under the sink—” Andy’s chair scraped the floor with sudden sound. Uncle William looked at him mildly. “The’s under the sink,” he repeated firmly, “and under the lounge and under the bed and up chimbley and down cellar... but they’re all kind o’ hard places to get to.... That’s another thing I never thought of, about being a fish-warden—havin’ to scooch so much.” “Never mind that,” said the young man, and there was a little impatient flick to the words, “I’ll begin wherever you say—” “Why, I don’t mind,” said Uncle William kindly. “If I was advising you, I should say, ’Don’t look anywheres.’.rdquo; Juno moved over and rubbed against Uncle William’s leg. Then she returned to her seat by the cupboard and lifted her lip in a silent miaouw. “Byme-by, Juno,” said Uncle William cheerfully. “She’s hungry, like enough,” he said, turning to the fish-warden. But the man had stooped and was lifting the cover of the red lounge. “It’s a dreadful clutter,” said Uncle William aside to Andy, “‘Seems’s if I hadn’t o’t to let him see it looking like that—” “You ’d better wring her neck,” said Andy between his set teeth. “Why, Andy!—You don’t find anything there, Mr. Mason?” said Uncle William. The man emerged with red face. “I didn’t expect to,” he said—“But it’s my business to look—” “Yes, it’s your business. That’s what I was sayin’ to myself when I was out sailin’—” “I’ll take the bedroom next,” said the man shortly.