Uncle William shook his head.  “That’s jest it, Andy.  They’re in a heap o’ trouble.”

Andy stirred uneasily.  “What’d she write to you for?”

“I’m comin’ to that—­if you’ll give me time.  She thought mebbe I could help—­”

Andy moved a little away.  “You hain’t got the means,” he said decisively.

“No”—­the tone was soothing—­“but I can get it, mebbe.  She wants me to come down.”

“To New York? You!” Andy looked at him.

William returned the look apologetically.  “Does sound ridiculous, don’t it, Andy?  I shouldn’t ever ‘a’ thought of the thing myself, but she says he kind o’ needs me.  Keeps askin’ for me when the fever is on, and don’t seem to get along much when it lets up.  She kind o’ thinks if I was there, it would help him to brace up, somehow, a little.”

Andy made no response.  The green light was dawning far down in his eye.

Uncle William watched it.  “It’s jest a sick man’s fancy, like enough.”

“When you goin’?” said Andy.

“I though ’bout day after to-morrow.”

“It’ll cost a heap.”

“I know it.”

“You’ve got it, I s’pose?” indifferently.

“Some of it,” said William.

Andy moved a little farther away.  He was very near the edge of the bench.

Uncle William moved over by him, and laid a hand on his knee.  “I was goin’ to ask you to lend me a hunderd, Andy.”

Andy wriggled a little.  “You don’t hev to go,” he said feebly.

“If he needs me, I’ll have to.  I ain’t ever been needed much—­livin’ alone so.  You don’t know how ’t is.  You have somebody to need you.  Harriet needs you—­”

“Lord, yes, Harr’et needs me.  Don’t doubt she needs me this minute—­pail o’ water or suthin’.”  Andrew chuckled gloomily.

“And you hev your chickens, too.”  Uncle William fixed his glance placidly on a strutting fowl that had appeared around the corner, cocking a surprised eye at them.  William regarded her thoughtfully.  “When a man’s alone, there ain’t much he can do for folks,” he said slowly, “except feed Juno night and mornin’,—­and she catches so many mice it ain’t really wuth while.  Now a hen needs to be fed.”

“Guess they do,” grumbled Andy.

“And a cow,” went on Uncle William, “but there—­” he checked himself.  “What am I talkin’ about?  How’d I ever keep a cow?  What’d I do with the milk?  I couldn’t eat a whole cowful.”  He sat gazing with far-off eyes at the glimpse of blue water.

Andy chewed scornfully on a bit of dry grass.

William turned to him suddenly.  “We’ll go down and draw out the money to-morrow morning,” he said.

Andy chewed anxiously.  “I dunno as I can let you have it,” he protested.

“Oh, yes, you’ll let me.  You see I need it, Andy, and I’m goin’ to pay you six per cent.  How much do you get at the bank?  Not more’n five, do you?”