FARM ECHOES. 57 



speedily in some shape, I well knew, but that gave me 

 the opportunity of returning it. 



My interest in the old man increased as I became better 

 acquainted with him, and much more satisfactory inter- 

 views than those to which I have referred, were had with 

 him. 



The poor fellow died the last summer I was at that 

 sea-shore resort, and it has always been a mystery and re- 

 gret to me that some of the summer visitors, who for 

 years had fished with him, did not visit him in his ill- 

 ness. Their neglect of duty stands out in marked con- 

 trast with that of a New York physician, who recognized 

 the occasion as one that warranted his laying aside pro- 

 fessional etiquette, and who most faithfully endeavored 

 to restore the sick man to health. 



The name, " Uncle Bill," having become a favorite one 

 with me, I gave it to one of my "farm hands," whose 

 picture is on the following page. It is an excellent like- 

 ness of one who was quite as original in his way as was 

 the fisherman. 



Soon after I assigned this name to him, he said to me: 

 "I am glad you call me Uncle Bill." "Why ?" I in- 

 quired. "Because some of these days some strangers 

 will be passing and hear you call me Uncle Bill, and they 

 will think that you are my nephew." 



One day he asked me why he was like the Duke of 

 Devonshire. Confessing my ignorance, he informed 

 me : "Because the Duke has his summer residence and 

 his winter residence, and so have I." Pointing to the 

 farm house where he lived in the summer, and then to 

 my dwelling, which he took charge of during my sojourn 



