Reproach filled the artist’s eyes. “You’ve not lain down all night!” “Didn’t need to,” said Uncle William. He got to his feet briskly. “I slep’ a good deal comin’ down in the boat. There wa’n’t a great deal goin’ on. If you’ve got a little water and soap handy, I reckon I could use it.” The artist half started to get up, but a firm hand held him back. “Now, stay right there. You jest tell me where things be--” He pointed to a door at the left. “You won’t find it in very good order, I’m afraid.” “Don’t you mind.” Uncle William had disappeared through the doorway. “It won’t bother me a mite.” His voice came back sociably. “I’m considabul ust to havin’ things mussed up.” The artist lay with a smile, listening to the sounds that came through the half-open door--thumping and blowing and splashing. Uncle William reappeared with shining face. “It seems good to hev suthin’ bigger’n a teacup to wash in,” he said. “I like the hull ocean, myself, but a tub does putty well. Now, jest let me see.” He drew up to the bed, looking at the young man with keen glance. “Oh, I’m all right--now.” “Had a fever?” “A little--yes.” “You all alone?” “There’s a man comes in by and by. He’ll clean up and get things for me.” Uncle William ignored the pride in the tone. “Jest roll over a little mite. There--” He placed his broad hand under the thin back. “Feel sore there? Kind o’ hurts, don’t it? I thought so--There.” He laid him back gently. “You jest wait a minute.” He was fumbling at the lock that held his box. “Are you a doctor?” The young man was watching him with half-amused eyes. “Well, not a doctor exactly.” Uncle William had taken out a small bottle and was holding it up to the light, squinting through it. “But I had a fever once, myself--kep’ a-runnin’.” He had come over to the bedside, the bottle in his hand. “You got a doctor?” The young man shook his head. “He will come if I send for him.” Uncle William nodded. “That’s the best kind.” He held out the bottle. “I’d like to give you ’bout five on ’em.” “What are they?” “Well, that’s what I don’t know, but it took about five on ’em to break up mine.” He had poured one into the palm of his hand and held it out. It was a small, roughly shaped pill, with grayish surface pitted with black. The young man eyed it doubtfully. “It _don’t_ look very nice,” said Uncle William, “and the man that made it never had a stitch of clothes on his back in his life; but I guess you better take it.” The young man opened his lips. The thing slid down, leaving a sickish, sweetish taste behind it.