“Sincerely yours,

“SERGIA LVOVA.”

Uncle William nodded at the letter with a genial smile, as if he saw the girl herself and responded to the wish.  He returned the letter with the blue slip to the envelope and stowed it away in his pocket.  He surveyed the room again, shaking his head.  “I couldn’t take their money, nohow,” he said slowly.  “I must go and see Andy.  He’ll help out.  He’ll be reel glad to.”

He rose and began to set the table, bringing out the smoked herring and bread and tea and foxberries with lavish hand.  He sat down with a look of satisfaction.  Juno, from the red lounge, came across, jumping into the chair beside him.  She rubbed expectantly against him.  He fed her bits of the herring with impartial hand.  When the meal was over, he went to the chimney and took out the loose brick, reaching in behind for the money.  He counted it slowly.  “Not near enough,” he said, shaking his head.  “I knew there wa’n’t.  I must go and see Andy.”

He washed the dishes and put them away, then he combed his tufts of hair and tied his neckerchief anew.

He found Andrew outside his house, feeding the hens.  They stood in silence, watching the scramble for bits.  “Shoo!” said Andrew, making a dash for a big cochin-china.  “She eats a lot more ’an her share,” he grumbled, shaking out the dish.  “Comin’ in?”

“I’ve got a little suthin’ to talk over with ye,” said William.

“Come out behind the barn,” said Andrew.

Seated on a well-worn bench with a glimpse of the bay in the distance, William drew out the envelope.  “I’ve got a letter—­”

Andy eyed it.  “From that painter chap?”

“Well, not exactly.  But it’s about him.  He’s in a good deal of trouble—­”

“What’s he been doin’?” demanded Andy.

“He’s been bein’ sick,” said William, reproachfully.

“Oh!” Andy’s face fell.

“He’s sick now,” went on Uncle William.  He drew the letter from its envelope.  “He’s feeling putty bad.”

“What’s the matter of him?” said Andy, gruffly.

Uncle William studied the letter.

“It’s a kind o’ fever—­I guess—­intermittent.  Runs for a while, then lets up a day or two, and then runs again.  We had it once—­don’t you remember?—­the whole crew, that time we broke down off Madagascar?  ’Member how sick we felt?” Uncle William looked at him mildly.

Andy’s eye was fixed on the bay.  “How d’ you know it’s the same?” he said.

“Well, I don’t know it’s the same—­not just the same, but she says—­”

“Who says?” Andy whirled about.

“Why, she says—­Sergia says.—­Didn’t I jest tell you, Andy?”

“You didn’t tell me nuthin’,” said Andy.  He had returned to the bay.

“She is his—­she is goin’ to marry him,” said William.

“Huh!”

There was silence for a minute, while Andrew digested the morsel.  “When they goin’ to be married?” he said at last.