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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fd4265a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #52700 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52700) diff --git a/old/52700-0.txt b/old/52700-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1a87bb6..0000000 --- a/old/52700-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6127 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Happy Island, by Jennette Lee - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Happy Island - A New "Uncle William" Story - -Author: Jennette Lee - -Release Date: August 2, 2016 [EBook #52700] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HAPPY ISLAND *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by Google Books - - - - - - - - -HAPPY ISLAND - -A New “Uncle William” Story - -By Jennette Lee - -New York The Century Co. - -1911 - - - -TO - -GERALD STANLEY LEE - -“To make the young world move—He has eyes, - -And ears, and he can read the sun.... - - -In tune with all the children who laugh best - -And longest through the sunshine, though far off - -Their laughter, and unheard.” - - - - -CONTENTS - - - - -HAPPY ISLAND - -I - -II - -III - -IV - -V - -VI - -VII - -VIII - -IX - -X - -XI - -XII - -XIII - -XIV - -XV - -XVI - -XVII - -XVIII - -XIX - -XX - -XXI - -XXII - -XXIII - -XXIV - -XXV - -XXVI - -XXVII - -XXVIII - - - - -HAPPY ISLAND - - - - -I - -THE sunlight got in Uncle William’s eyes. He looked up from the map -spread on the table before him. Then he got up slowly and crossed to the -window and drew down the turkey-red curtain—a deep glow filled the room. -Juno, on the lounge, stirred a little and stretched her daws, and drew -them in and tucked her head behind them and went on sleeping. - -Uncle William returned to his map. His big finger found a dotted line -and followed it slowly up the table with little mumbles of words.... The -room was very still—only the faintest whisper of a breeze came across -the harbor—and Uncle William’s head bent over the map and traveled with -his finger.... “They ’d run in here, like enough, and...” - -A shadow crossed the curtain and he looked up. - -Andy was in the doorway, grinning—a bunch of lobsters dangling from -his hand, stretching frantic green legs into space. Andy looked down at -them. - -Uncle William shook his head. “You ’ll get into trouble, Andy, carryin’ -’em that way, right in broad daylight—you can put ’em out there under -the bucket—so ’s ’t the sun won’t hit ’em.” - -Andy departed and the scraping of the bucket on the hard rock came -cautiously in the window.... Juno lifted her ear and flicked it and went -on dreaming. Uncle William returned to the map. - -“What you huntin’ up?” asked Andy. He was looking in the window. - -“‘D you put a stone on top the bucket?” - -“Yep—What you lookin’ for?” asked Andy. - -“I was just seein’ where they ’d got to..... They must be up along -Battle Harbor way, by this time—” - -“You heard from ’em?” said Andy. He came in and sat down. - -“We’ve had a letter to-day—me and Benjy—” - -“Where’s he gone?” asked Andy. - -“He’s up to his place—seein’ about some plans they’re makin’—they bother -him quite a consid’abul.” - -Andy’s face showed no concern. “They goin’ to begin working next week?” -he said. - -Uncle William pushed back the map a little and took off his -spectacles.... “They don’t just seem to know,” he said slowly, “Benjy -wants it one way, and the man that’s doin’ it—Ordway—he says it can’t be -done—so they’re kind o’ stuck. I wish he ’d have George Manning.” Uncle -William’s face expanded. “George ’d do it—and do it for him good. You -see, Benjy, he wants—” - -“He ’ll want money,” said Andy shortly—“unless he looks out—keeping that -contractor and fussing about whether they ’ll have the roof two inches -up or two inches down—or some such matter as that—and Harr’et feedin’ -the contractor and getting board money right along whether he works or -don’t work.” - -“I guess I’ll do the lobsters for supper,” said Uncle William. “Benjy -likes ’em.” He stirred about, gathering a few bits of kindling and paper -and striking a careful match. - -Andy watched him with gloomy eye while he dived under the sink and -brought out a large kettle. - -Uncle William lifted the tea kettle a little and drew it forward. “Most -full,” he said contentedly. “That’s good—and it ain’t fairly cooled off -since dinner—I didn’t wash any dishes this noon, you see.” - -Andy’s eye roamed about the room. - -“They’re tucked under the sink,” said Uncle William, “I don’t like ’em -clutterin’ round. I can’t seem to set so easy if I see ’em.” He opened -the sink door and peered in. “I guess there’s about enough left for a -meal—You goin’ to stay—?” He looked back hopefully over his shoulder. - -Andy wriggled a little and looked at the door. “I didn’t say nothin’ to -Harr’et,” he said feebly. - -“Well, I guess you better stay—” said Uncle William, “You don’t get a -chance to eat lobsters every day.” - -“I don’t get ’em any day,” said Andy gloomily, “She won’t cook ’em for -me—and she says she won’t have ’em scrawling round.” - -Uncle William looked at him sympathetically. “Now, that’s too bad—it’s -just come on, ain’t it?” - -Andy nodded. “She says it’s the law and she’s going to keep it, and we -hain’t had tip nor claw for much as a week now.” - -“My... my!” Uncle William’s tongue clicked in sympathy. “Well, you stay -right where you be, Andy, and we ’ll have one good meal.” He brought in -the lobsters. “Seem’s if women keep the law a little harder ’n men—when -they do keep it,” he said thoughtfully, swashing the lobsters happily -down into the kettle. - -Andy nodded. “She got scared ’bout the fish-warden last week. She says -we can’t pay no three hundred dollars for lobsters—and I do’ ’no’s we -can.” His eye was on the steam that rose genially about the lid of the -kettle. - -“Well, there won’t be any three hundred this time,” said Uncle William, -“—not without the fish-warden’s legs are longer ’n my spy-glass. Seems -kind o’ mean business—being a warden,” he added kindly. - -“I don’t mind his bein’ a warden,” said Andy, “if they ’d let us have -Jim Doshy. We ’d got used to him—knew his ways, and he gen ’lly sent -us, word anyhow—day or two beforehand—But this one—” He looked at Uncle -William with reproachful eye. “The’ wa ’n’t one of us ready for him when -he come.” - -Uncle William nodded. “I know—lively work wa ’n’t it?” - -Andy grinned. “Lively—they was flyin’ round like hens with their -heads off—dumpin’ ’em out and scratchin’ ’em under and getting things -shipshape.” He grinned again. “I wa ’n’t to home, you know—I’d gone off -the Point—to haul a mess for dinner, and Harr’et had to run a mile in -the hot sun to yell at me to dump ’em out.” He drew a long breath as he -heaved the lobsters overboard and righted himself. - -“Now, that ain’t right,” said Uncle William, “making Harr’et run in -the hot sun like that—all for them little squirming things,—and ’tain’t -reasonable. We ought to know how many lobsters we o’t to eat—much as -any fish-warden. Ain’t they our lobsters?” He shoved up his glasses and -looked at Andy kindly. - -Andy’s eye was on the kettle. “You think they’re most done?” he said. - -Uncle William took off the lid and peered in. The steam rose about his -big head like a halo and rolled away in light whiffs. Down on the beach -they could hear the washing of the little waves as the tide came up. -Uncle William’s face looked out of the steam, like a happy moon. “Just -about—” he said, “You run and see if Benjy’s anywheres in sight.” He -lifted the kettle and Andy got up stiffly and went to the door. - -“I don’t see him nowheres,” he said indifferently. - -“You can’t see him there, Andy. You got to go round the corner.” Uncle -William carried the kettle to the sink and Andy departed, reluctant—When -he returned the lobsters were on the middle of the table, red and -steaming, with their little white clouds over them. The map had been -hung on the wall and the table was scantily set—“There’s one spoon -apiece,” said Uncle William cheerfully, “—though I do’ ’no’s we need -spoons. I’m going to have a real good washin’ up after dinner—’D you see -him, Andy?” - -“He’s comin’,” replied Andy—“up the road a piece.” - -“He ’ll be right along then,” said Uncle William, “—if he don’t meet -somebody—that wants to advise him ’bout his house. I’d come home round -by the lots, if I was him, I tell him. It’s further—but he ’d get here -quicker. You sure ’t was him?” - -“The’ ain’t anybody else got that kind o’ high-stepping walk, has the’.” -said Andy scornfully. - -“I do’ ’no ’s the’ has,” said Uncle William. “You draw right up, Andy. -He ’ll be here any minute now.” - - - - -II - -BENJAMIN BODET stood in the doorway and looked in. He was tall and thin -and distinguished—in spite of his rough suit and slouch hat and the -week’s growth of beard on his thin cheeks and pointed chin. His eye -fell on the steaming red mound in the center of the table and his face -lighted. “Lobsters!” he said. - -Uncle William, who had been watching him, chuckled a little. “Andy’s -lobsters,” he said politely. - -Andy shuffled in his chair. “They’re your claws, William—they’re on your -premises—” - -“Yes, yes,” said Uncle William soothingly, “I know ’bout that. You just -eat all you want and I’ll pay the bill—when it comes in. You all ready, -Benjy?” - -“All ready—and hungry for anything you’ve got—especially lobster.” - -They drew up to the table and reached out to the red pile—breaking it -down slowly.... Juno, from her lounge, came across and rubbed against -Uncle William’s big leg. Then she sat up. When Uncle William’s hand -reached down with casual motion, and a hard, red morsel, she snuffed at -it daintily before her teeth opened on it. Then she bent her head and -growled a little, and crouched over it, crushing it under her paw and -moving her tail in swift, restrained joy... to eat was good—but to hold -it—there under her paw—caught fast—and growl a little.... Up above Uncle -William rumbled on—about the weather and fishing and house building and -lobsters.... Presently he reached up and took down a spy-glass and went -to the window. The red curtain was up and the sun came in with soft, -side slants. Down below, the water of the harbor slowly filled with dusk -and reached away. Uncle William looked out across it toward the west. - -“I’ve been kind o’ watching her,” he said, “for some time—I guess she’s -goin’ by.” - -Benjamin Bodet came and stood beside him, looking out. - -Uncle William glanced at him affectionately as he handed him the glass. -He was not quite used—even yet—to having Benjy around. Sometimes he -waked in the night and remembered Benjy was there—before he heard the -sound of the waves on the beach or the wind coming across the moor -behind the house.... This sometimes gave him a feeling that perhaps it -might be heaven instead of Arichat... and it kept him from getting used -to Benjy’s presence in the house. - -Andy, from his seat at the table, looked at them with grudging eye. “You -see anything?” he said. - -“She’s running by,” said Uncle William. He came and sat down and looked -contentedly at the untidy table. “That was a pretty good meal, Andy.” - -Andy nodded, without enthusiasm. “The last one I’ll have this -season—like as not,” he said. - -“Oh, you bring ’em up here any time and we ’ll help you out, Benjy and -me.” The tall man had come back from the window and he smiled down at -them. “I’ll do my share,” he said. - -Uncle William looked at him, as if fearing a little that he might vanish -in his thinness. “You set down, Benjy,” he said, “I’m going to clear the -table and then we ’ll get down the map—” - -“Have you heard—?” asked the man quickly. - -“It come today—while you was gone, and it’s to both of us,” said Uncle -William. - -He held the pan of red shells in his hand, looking at it doubtfully. -Juno, with her back to the stove, licked her paw and rubbed it down her -nose and rubbed again—and licked it and rubbed again—in gentle rhythm. - -Uncle William glanced at her with benignant eye. “She does set store by -lobster,” he said, “much as anybody I ever see. I guess I’ll save ’em -for her.” He moved toward the sink. - -Andy’s eye followed him with disapproving glance. “I’d heave ’em out,” -he said. - -“Don’t you worry, Andy, I’m goin’ to put ’em under the sink—way back. -The’ won’t no fish-warden get ’em in there. It’s much’s I can do to find -things myself—when they get under here—” He emerged from the depths -with serene face. “I see some things in there now, I’ve been looking -for quite a spell. Tomorrow I’m going to have a real good clarin’-up -time—You see!” - -“I wanted you to go up to my place tomorrow,” said Bodet whimsically. “I -thought perhaps you could work that contractor around to let me have my -house the way I want it.” - -“Well, I’ll go if you want me to,” said Uncle William placidly, “The -dishes can wait a spell—some of ’em can wait,” he added, with a touch of -conscience. - -Benjamin smiled. “You might do them before we go.” - -“And you could wipe,” said Uncle William cheerfully. - -Benjamin’s face was perhaps a trifle less glowing than Uncle William’s, -but his assent was cheerful. “All right, William, I’ll do my part—You -help me with that contractor and I’ll wipe dishes for you—all day, if -you say so.” - -Uncle William regarded him thoughtfully. “You ought to have George -Manning to help you about your house, Benjy. He could do it for -you—nice.” - -“Manning?” Bodet looked at him with lifted eyebrows—“You mean that -boy—?” - -“He ain’t a boy exactly, Benjy. He looks kind o’ young—not having -any whiskers, and chewing a piece of grass the way he does when he’s -thinking. But he’s old enough. He’s built a good many houses on the -Island, fust and last—much as eighteen or twenty, I should think, -counting barns—and hen-coops and fish-houses.” - -Bodet smiled. “My house isn’t a hencoop, William.” - -“I know, Benjy—it’s going to be a nice house—when you get it started,” -said William. - -Bodet sighed and threw out an impatient hand. - -Uncle William looked at him sympathetically. “Does bother ye a -good deal, don’t it?—You might talk with George about it,” he added -hopefully, “‘Twon’t hurt any to talk to him—he’s chuck full of ideas. -He’s about the best man we’ve got on the Island, I guess,” he added -slowly. “The’ ain’t but one thing wrong about George.” - -“What’s wrong with him!” asked Bodet with a little, skeptical smile. - -“He ain’t married,” said Uncle William. - -Bodet laughed out. “Neither are you, William.” - -“No, I ain’t married and you ain’t married. But that’s different—we’re -old men.” - -“Just tottering around,” laughed Bodet. - -“It ain’t the tottering, Benjy—It’s the hevin’ had your chance—and -lost it.... That’s what’s happened to us.” He was looking at him with -affectionate eyes, over the big spectacles. - -Bodet nodded. “That’s what’s happened to us. And George Manning, I -suppose—” - -“George never had a chance,” said Uncle William thoughtfully.... “I -don’t mean that nobody would ’a’ had him. I guess the’ ain’t a girl on -the Island but what’s set her cap for George, one time or another—set it -kind o’ modest, you know. But George don’t see ’em. He just goes around -looking at the sky and things—kind o’ thinkin’ in his mind—might bump -right up against a girl and not know she was there—” Uncle William -chuckled. “I’ve talked to him about ’em,” he added conscientiously—“I’ve -told him, a good many times, how interestin’ they be—but it don’t seem -to do any good.” Uncle William sighed a little. - -Bodet stood up, shaking himself. “Did you say there was a letter—?” he -suggested. - -Uncle William blinked a little and took it from his pocket, regarding it -fondly. “You read it,” he said, “whilst I get down the map.” - -Andy watched him, a little morosely, as he mounted a chair and reached -for the map on its nail—“When you two going to get a girl!” he said. - -Uncle William looked down at him with open mouth. “Now that’s an idea!” -he said slowly. - -“What’s an idea?” asked Andy. - -Uncle William’s mouth closed firmly. “Nothin’—I didn’t mean nothin’, I -guess. I was just a-thinking.” He chuckled softly. “We’ve got a girl,” -he added kindly. “We heard from her yesterday.” He reached again to the -map. - -“When’s she coming?” demanded Andy. - -“Well—?” Uncle William climbed slowly from the chair with his map, “She -can’t come—exactly—” - -Andy stared at him. “Then you ain’t got her, Willum—” - -“Oh, yes, we’ve got her—and she wants to come—worst way. She’s the one I -told you about—down to New York?” He looked at Andy over his spec-tades. -“She’s a nice girl,” he added. His face held a deep glow. “‘Bout the -nicest girl you ever see, I reckon.” - -“I don’t know her,” said Andy coldly. “Well, mebbe you forget—But -I remember well enough telling you about her one day—down to your -house—when Harr’et had gone fox-berrying—and you and me was there alone, -and we was makin’—” - -“Like enough I do remember,” said Andy hastily. - -“That’s the one,” said Uncle William, “the one I kind o’ helped to -get home from New York—and she ’d come—any day—if there was a place to -sleep. Benjy’s in the other room and I’m in this one—and the’ ain’t any -other—” His forehead wrinkled at the problem. “She’s got to come—and -she’s got to hev a place,” he said with decision. - -“She could sleep down to my house,” said Andy. - -“Why, so she could—She could sleep down to his house, Benjy,” said Uncle -William. - -The tall man swung his glasses from his nose and looked at them—first -one and then the other. Then a smile came into his face. “The Lord -bless you, Andy,” he said, “I think I had come about to the end of my -dish-washing powers—” - -“All you’ve done, was wipe ’em, Benjy,” said Uncle William anxiously. - -“I know, William—and it’s all right—and I liked it!” - -“You ’d pay a little suthin’,” suggested Andy. - -“Oh, anything reasonable,” responded the tall man. “Now let’s see the -map.” - - - - -III - -THEY bent over the table, following Uncle William’s finger. The room was -filled with light smoke from Uncle William’s pipe and the cigarette -that Bodet held in his fingers and whiffed from time to time. The dusk -outside crept in and mingled with the smoke. - -“It’s along up here somewheres....” said Uncle William, peering at -the map—“Here—! Here it is!” He glued his finger to a tiny spot—“They -stopped here, they said—off St. Pierre, and then run along up through -Placentia Bay and stopped off two-three times, and back to St. -Mary’s—kind o’ edgin’ along—They struck a squall here—off Lance -Point—and that kep’ ’em back a spell—” - -“The boat’s all right!” said Bodet quickly. - -“Oh, she’s all right, I guess. They didn’t say nothin’ about the boat. -They was writin’ about the scenery and about their feelings, and so on; -but I managed to make out their course—puttin’ this and that together. -Your boat’s all right, Benjy. She ’ll stand any weather they ’ll get -this time o’ year.” - -“Yes—she ’ll stand it—with good handling—” - -“Well, you’ve got a captain knows his business.... They ’ll bring her -’round to your back door some day, safe and sound.... You ain’t worryin’ -to have ’em back, Benjy?” - -The other shook his head. “Not a bit—I’m contented here.” He gave a -little puff to the cigarette and wrinkled his eyes, smiling across the -map and dreaming a little. - -Uncle William’s eyes were on his face, kindly and glad. The pipe in -his lips gave out a gentle volume of smoke and rumbled a little down -below—“You can’t find a much better place ’n this is, can you?” He moved -his hand toward the window where the dusk was coming in... and across -the harbor where the lights glowed faintly—like stars. - -Benjy’s eye rested on them. “Best place in the world,” he said. - -“We all like it,” said Uncle William, “Andy likes it, too—” - -The green in Andy’s eye retreated a little—“I’d like to see some of them -other places,” he said.... “Now, that,” he shoved his finger at a point -on the map—“That’s the farthest north I ever went.” Uncle William bent -to it.... “Dead Man’s Point.” He chuckled a little. “‘Tis kind o’ rough, -Andy, ain’t it!” - -“I’ve started times enough,” said Andy—“once for Labrador and once in -a whaler ’twas going way up—they said. Seem’s if we always got stuck -or got a cargo—or suthin’—before we’re fairly under way—and had to turn -around and come back.” - -Uncle William nodded. “You’ve had a hard time, Andy—and I do’ ’no’s I’d -risk taking you along myself—not if I wanted to get anywhere.” - -Andy grinned. “You’ve been,” he said. “You don’t care.” - -Uncle William’s eye swept the map and he laid his great hand on it -affectionately, spreading the fingers wide. “It does feel good to think -you’ve seen it,” he said, “But I’d rather be right here with you and -Benjy a-traveling this way—after them young things, that don’t know -where they’re sailing or what kind of waters they’re comin’ to—and not -trusting the Lord even—not fairly trustin’ him, so to speak—just kind -o’ thinkin’ of him as suthin’ to fall back on if a storm comes up—a real -hard one—kind of a tornado like.” - -“She’s a good boat,” said the tall man. - -“She’s all right, Benjy—and they’re nice children,” responded Uncle -William, “and I hope they won’t hurry a mite about getting round the -earth.... The rate they’re goin’ now—when they wrote—I reckon it ’ll -take just about twenty-five years,” he said reflectively.... “They don’t -say how far North they plan to make, but I kind o’ reckon they ’ll cut -across from here—from Battle Harbor to Disco, and then skirt along down -the Cape, and up,”... His finger followed the course with slow touch and -the smoke curled about his head with deep, contemplative puffs. His eye -ran back over the course and lingered on a bit of clear water to the -North. “It does seem a pity not to go up there—when they’re so near,” -he said regretfully, “and best kind of weather, too.”... His eye grew -dreamy—“It was along ’71, I sailed there—along with Captain Hall—You -know that last voyage of his? We had one eye on whales and one on the -Pole, I reckon... and the Polaris, she edged and edged, up and up. Some -days I didn’t know but she would strike the Pole—run smack into it.... -We ’d got up here through the Strait and up Smith’s Sound... and on -beyond—the farthest of anybody’t that time—and Captain Hall, he was for -pushing on—and all of ’em, except Buddington—he was sailing master and -that slow, cautious kind—no sort o’ timber to go after the North Pole -with—but he said we ’d winter right there—’twas somewheres along in -August then—and we run back a little to a good place—and that’s where -it got its name now, ’Polaris Bay’—we was the ones that named it.” -Uncle William looked at it, with the pride of possession, and rubbed his -finger on it. “Well, we stayed there.... But Captain Hall—you couldn’t -hold him still, and he was all the time sledgin’ off, one way and -another—to see what the earth was doin’ up that way—and it run along -into October—the last of the month—It all seems like yesterday,” said -Uncle William slowly.... “I was a young fellow, you see—not more ’n -twenty-two-three, and I’d left Jennie down here, and gone up there—so’s -to make money faster.”—His eye traveled about the red room... and came -back to the map... “and there we was, settin’ down up there—waitin’ for -winter and not a whale in sight—and then, all of a sudden, before you -could say Jack Robinson—Captain Hall died.... There was whisperin’s -around among the crew about the way he was took and the Navy went into -it later—but nothin’ was proved... and Captain Buddington wa’ n’t the -kind of man you could stand up to—captain or sailin’ master, or what, he -’d have his way... and we stayed there best part of a year. Then he said -we was goin’ home—I remember,’. if it was yesterday, the day we got wind -what he was plannin’ for. I’d been out off from the boat all day.... and -when I came in George Pelman, he whispered to me we was goin’ home—and -then, all in a minute, out there in the snow, I see Jennie’s face -looking to me and smilin’, and my eyes kind o’ blurred—with the snow -and all that—and that was the last time I see her—” said Uncle William -slowly. “She died that winter.... When we got home, along in the spring, -they told me she had waited—seems ’s if she kind o’ made her body wait -till I’d come—They said it was like her spirit died out, faint, till it -just wa ’n’t there.... So that’s the way I come to be here alone... -and it seemed pretty good when Benjy come back so, one day, all out o’ -nothin’—and there he was standin’ in that door....” - -The tall man went to the window and stood with his back to the room -looking out. When he turned about, his eyes were shining—like the lights -across the water. “It was like getting home,” he said. - -“Yes,’.was home,” said Uncle William contentedly. “Of course, any place -where you happen to be is home,—but if there’s somebody there waitin’ -for ye and needin’ ye, it’s more homier than any of ’em.” Andy got -slowly to his feet. “Harr’et’s waitin’ for me,” he said, “and I might’s -well go—” He cast a lingering look at the table. “You boys going to sit -up all night, talking and gabbling!” - -“Why, no, Andy. I do ’no ’s we ’ll light up,” responded Uncle William. -“I was thinkin’ of going down to look after the boats a little and then -we ’ll go to bed—like enough.” - -“Well, good night,” said Andy, “I’ve got to go,” - -“Good night, Andy.” They sat listening to his footfalls on the rocky -path below. “He’s a good boy,” said Uncle William. “He ’ll stan’ a -lot—without whimpering—but he don’t know it—no more ’n that cat there.” - -Juno rose and stretched her back, yawning. Then she walked indifferently -to the door and passed out—as if a summons had come to her from the -night out there. - - - - -IV - -UNCLE WILLIAM finished the last saucepan and carried it, with careful -flourish, to the stove, where the top was piled high with pots and -kettles. He found a place for the saucepan and deposited it with -cautious touch. Then he stood back and surveyed the topply pile with -hopeful eye. - -Benjamin, seated on a rock outside, was whistling softly. “You most -ready, William,” he called. - -Uncle William glanced hastily toward the window, then his glance -traveled about the room. “Pretty near, Benjy,” he said. “You wait a -minute whilst I chuck two-three more things out o’ sight.” - -Benjamin rose and stretched his long legs. The sun shone brilliantly and -the salt air was alive with the freshness of summer. He strolled to the -window and looked in.... Uncle William, on his knees by the red lounge, -was poking things under with swift, efficient touch. - -He looked up and nodded. “Don’t you wait, Benjy. I’m most done. The’s -just two-three things got strayed around—” He gathered up a plate and -saucer, with the remnants of Juno’s supper, and carried them across to -the sink. He opened the cupboard door underneath and thrust them in.... -“The’s a few things left,” he said apologetically, “if I raked way in -under for ’em, mebbe. But we’ve got enough to run along—quite a spell -now.” He glanced affectionately at the stove and the rows of shining -cups and plates ranged on the shelf above the sink. - -Benjamin’s eye followed the glance with a touch of amusement and a -little impatience, “Oh, come on, William. You ’d let things run a week -and then you ’d scrub all day—” - -Uncle William’s face beamed. “That’s right, Benjy. That’s just the way I -like it—now, how ’d you know!” - -“Well, I have eyes,” said Benjamin dryly, “and I’ve been living with you -a month or so, you know.” - -“That’s so, Benjy—and don’t it seem good!” Uncle William came to the -window and patted the thin hand resting on the sill. “I’m coming right -along, now, soon’s I get my apron off—” His fingers tugged at the -strings of the big oil cloth pattern that encompassed him. - -Benjamin’s eye waited, impatient—“You ’ll get rid of all that fuss when -the new girl comes,” he said. - -Uncle William’s mouth opened and looked at him. Then it closed and Uncle -William shook his head. “I’d clean forgot her,” he said slowly, “and -if I don’t send her word today, she can’t come for two weeks—nor four, -mebbe. The boats don’t run right.” He reached up to the clock for the -pen and bottle of ink that stood there. - -Benjamin moved with restless indecision and Uncle William glanced at -him. “You run along, Benjy,” he said kindly, “That contractor ’ll be -waiting for you—” - -“He’s been waiting,” said Benjy quickly, “—an hour at least.” - -“Yes, yes—I know. Don’t you wait—” Uncle William’s eye was on the -paper and he was mumbling words to the ink bottle.... “I’ll be—right -along—Benjy—sometime—” - -The tall man turned from the window and strode over the rocks. - -Uncle William’s face smoothed to its genial smile as the steps died -away. His fingers traced big, comfortable words on the paper and his -head nodded in a kind of cheerful, all-round assent while he wrote. The -clock struck ten and he looked up, blinking a little. His eyes strayed -to the window and he looked out. Then he got up and went across. After -a minute he took down the spy-glass and fixed it on a distant point. His -face radiated in little wrinkles of interest. “I do’ ’no’s I ever see -Andy run like that—and cross-lots, too—Harr’et wants suthin’—bad—like -enough.... My—my! He hadn’t ought to run like that!”... He bent from the -window. “Hello, Andy!—what you runnin’ for?” - -Andy halted, panting—“He’s come!” he said. The words sank to a whisper -and he wheeled about, glaring at a man who was coming up the path from -the shore, trundling a bicycle before him. He was a young man, with -keen, quick glance and a look of determination. He glanced indifferently -at Andy and rapped sharply on the side of the door. - -Uncle William came across with easy gait. “Good morning,” he -said—looking down from his height... - -“You’re the owner of this house!” said the young man. - -Uncle William’s eye traversed it kindly, “I reckon it belongs to me—yet -awhile. Will you come in—sir!” The figure towered still higher and Uncle -William’s presence exhaled dignity and welcome. - -The young man stepped over the sill. Andy followed sulkily. - -“Sit down, sir.” Uncle William’s hand motioned to the red lounge. - -The stranger crossed and sat down, holding his hat in his hand and -glancing with quick eye about the little room. - -Uncle William sat down opposite him, a hand on either knee, and looked -at him over large spectacles. - -“I’m the new fish-warden,” said the young man—as if he answered a polite -question. - -“I kind o’ reckoned you might be a fish-warden, or something like that,” -said Uncle William. “I’m glad to see you.” - -The young man smiled a little. “You’re the first one that’s glad, I -guess—” The quick look had relaxed a little in his face. The warm, sunny -room seemed to reach out and surround him. - -Juno, from her place on the lounge, leaped down and walked with -deliberate step across the room. She seated herself in the sunshine, -with her back to the company, and looked steadily into space. - -Uncle William’s eye rested on her kindly. - -“I’m looking for lobsters,” said the young man. - -Uncle William nodded. “It’s a poor time of year for ’em,” he said, -“—close season, so.” - -The man’s eyebrows lifted a little. - -“I didn’t get your name, sir,” added Uncle William, leaning forward. - -“My name is Mason,” said the young man. - -“I’m glad to meet you, sir,” said Uncle William. He came across and held -out a big hand. “My name is Benslow—William Benslow.” - -The young man took the hand, a little dazed, it might seem. “I knew -it was Benslow,” he said, “I inquired before I came up—down in the -village.” - -“Now, did ye? That was kind in you!” Uncle William beamed on him and -sat down. “I ain’t ever had the fish-warden up here,” he said -thoughtfully—“not as I can remember. I’m real glad to see you.” - -The young man nodded stiffly—a little color had come into his face—as if -he did not propose to be tampered with. - -“I’ve thought a good deal about fish-wardens,” went on Uncle William -comfortably, crossing his legs, “when I’ve been out sailing and -lobstering and so on—’Seems’s if it must be kind o’ unpleasant -business—knowing likely enough folks don’t want to see you come sailin’ -into a harbor—night or day.” - -The young man turned a little in his place, looking at him curiously. - -“—And kind o’ havin’ to brace yourself,” went on Uncle William, “to do -your duty—feelin’, I suppose, as if there was spears always reachin’ out -from the shore and pinting at ye—to keep you off—sort of?” - -The young man stirred uneasily. “I don’t know that I ever thought about -it that way,” he said. - -“Like enough you didn’t,” said Uncle - -William, “I do’ ’no ’s I’d ’a’ thought of it myself—only I’m al’ays kind -o’ possessed to know how folks feel inside—other folks, you know—and one -day, as I was comin’ in from lobsterin’, I says to myself—’Supposin’, -instead o’ bringing in these lobsters, nice and comfortable, I was a -fish-warden, a-sailin’ in to catch somebody, there on the shore’—and -then, all of a sudden, I seemed to see them spears, hundreds of ’em, -pointin’ right at me, kind of circle-like, from the shore. There was a -minute in that boat when I wouldn’t’ ’a’ known whether it was you or me, -and it felt uncomfortable—real uncomfortable,” said Uncle William. - -Andy’s face held a wide, half-scared grin. - -The young man looked at Uncle William curiously. “I could imagine things -like that—if I wanted to,” he said dryly. - -Uncle William nodded. “I don’t doubt you could—a good deal better. But I -wouldn’t if I was you.” - -“I don’t intend to,” said the young man. He half rose from his seat. - -“It’s cur’us, ain’t it,” said Uncle William, “Now, I suppose you’ve got -a family—a wife, like enough, and children—” - -The young man’s hand sought an inside pocket, as if by instinct. Then it -dropped to his side. - -Uncle William smiled and chuckled a little. “Now, I never thought you -’d have pictures of ’em with you. But why shouldn’t yet Why shouldn’t a -fish-warden hev pictures of his wife and babies, same as other folks?” -He had turned to Andy, and sat, with spectacles pushed up on his -forehead, looking at him inquiringly. - -“I do’ ’no’ why he shouldn’t,” said Andy feebly—but not as if convinced. - -“Of course you ’d have ’em,” said Uncle William, turning ’to the young -man, “And I like you all the better for it. I’d taken a liking to you -anyhow—before that.” - -The face opposite him was non-committal. But there was a look of -firmness about the chin. - -“I’d like to see ’em,” said Uncle William, “if you wouldn’t mind my -seein’ ’em.” The tone was full of interest and kindly hope. - -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. - -They disappeared in the next room and the murmur of their voices, with -the moving of a heavy chest and the stir of papers, came out. - -Andy cast a vicious eye at Juno. He half rose and took a step on tiptoe. -But the bedroom door opened again and he sat down. - -“I haven’t hauled a trap—nor set one—since the season closed,” said -Uncle William’s voice. - -“That’s all right, Mr. Benslow. But I have reason to think.... I’d -better make a thorough search—since I am here,” he finished quietly. - -“You search all you want to,” said Uncle William cordially—“Get away, -Juno.” He pushed her aside with his foot. “This is my sink cupboard,” -he opened the door hospitably. “Lucky I washed some of the dishes this -morning,” he said, “You would ’a’ had a time if I hadn’t!” The man -reached in and drew out a pile of plates. His nose lifted itself as he -set them down and reached in again. He emerged with a quiet look in his -face—“I shall have to trouble you to take out all the things in that -cupboard,” he said with a motion of his hand. - -Uncle William’s face had dropped a little. “I most knew you ’d want me -to do that,” he said, “I o’ ’t to ’a’ done it, this morning, before you -came.” - -The man laughed out. “That’s all right, Mr. Benslow. I don’t mind your -bluffing—as long as you play fair. But that cupboard is a give-away, -dead easy.” - -Uncle William sighed a little. “I wish had my clam-rake,” he said. - -The man stared at him— - -“I gen’ally use my clam-rake to haul ’em out,” explained Uncle William -kindly. “I can shove ’em in with the broom or a stick of wood or most -anything, but it’s kind o’ hard gettin’ ’em out—specially for a big man -like me—” He reached in and drew out an ample armful—dippers and pans -and plates and spoons and bowls—then another armful—mostly tinware and -kettles—and then a third—spreading them on the floor about him with -lavish hand. Now and then he stopped to exclaim over some lost treasure -as it came to light. If doom must come, Uncle William did not propose to -meet it more than half way nor with gloomy countenance. - -The fish-warden watched him with his little cynical smile, and Andy -hitched uneasily in his chair. - -“There—” Uncle William drew a breath and emerged from the cupboard. -“That’s the last one I can reach—without my rake. You get in, Andy. -You’re smaller ’n I be.” - -Andy took firm hold of the seat of his chair. “I don’t want to, Willum.” - -“Oh yes, you get right in and fetch ’em out, Andy. I’ll hold the candle -for ye.” - -Uncle William lighted a candle and Andy crawled miserably into the -depths. His voice came out, gloomy and protesting, as he handed out a -few last articles. Then there was a long pause and a sound of scraping -on the boards. - -Uncle William withdrew the candle. - -“He’s comin’ out,” he said. - -The fish-warden bent forward, a look of quick interest in his face. - -Slowly Andy backed into the room and lifted an awed face. In his hand -he held a small monse-trap. “There ain’t a durned thing left,” he said, -“except this.” He held it up and looked at it—and blinked. Then he laid -it down on the table and looked at it again, fondly—and blinked. A large -grin stole into his face. “I put that monse-trap there—time Juno run -away,” he said—“the time you was down to New York.” He had turned to -William. - -Uncle William was looking at the fish-warden, a kindly smile on his -face. - -The warden ignored it. “I’ll trouble you for that candle,” he said, -“I’ll take a look myself.” - -Uncle William handed it to him and he held it far into the cupboard, -peering at the top and sides and floor. He withdrew it, blowing it out -with a quick puff—“You’ve got off this time,” he said, “but that smell -ought to convict you—if there was any justice in law.” - -“Well, I do’ ’no ’s there is,” said Uncle William, “do you? It does -smell good.” He sniffed a little. “‘Seems’s if they ought to put that in -the schedule they send us, ’Any lobsters, claws or smells found in the -possession of any person whatsoever.’.rdquo; Uncle William marked off -the count on his fingers with kindly eye and beamed. “You could fine me -fifty dollars, or some such matter as that—for that cupboard, I -should think.” The eyes behind the big spectacles twinkled with good -fellowship. - -The fish-warden looked at him. Then he looked at the empty cupboard and -at Andy and the mouse-trap—He smiled a little. “You might speak to -them about the law yourself,” he said. “I can testify it ought to be -changed.” - -“We ’d like to speak to ’em,” said Uncle William, “—about a good many -things. About this lobster-law, now,” He motioned toward the mouse-trap, -“We don’t want any such law. I ain’t a canning factory. We ain’t -pirates, nor lawbreakers here—” - -The young man smiled a little. - -“Not without we have to be,” said Uncle William quickly. “They’re our -lobsters, and mostly we know what’s good for ’em—and what’s good for us, -and if we want to ketch a few and eat, now and then, we don’t need no -inspector.... Not but what we’re always glad to see you,” he said. -He held out his hand kindly. “I know—by the looks of your wife and -babies—you’re a good man.” - -The young man took the big hand, smiling a little. “I’m glad to have -met you, Mr. Benslow,” he said slowly. He looked at him a minute, as if -something in the big face puzzled him. Then he turned away with a little -shake of his head. “I shouldn’t want to meet you regularly—not if I’m -going to keep on being fish-warden,” he said. - -Uncle William chuckled a little. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Mason—there’s -lots of jobs for them that needs ’em—some of ’em right and some of ’em -wrong—and I reckon the main thing is to do what we hev to do as well as -we can and not worry.” - -He watched the young man down the rocky path, trundling his wheel beside -him. Then he turned back to the red room. He stooped and ran his big -hand along Juno’s back, as it arched to his touch, smoothing it slowly. - -Andy looked at him with sheepish grin. “Where ’d you put ’em, Willum?” -he said. - -Uncle William glanced out of the window at the dimpling harbor. A little -breeze blew across it and the waves darkened and ran. He smiled at them -and then at Andy. “I see his lights last night,” he said, “along about -midnight, off the Point, and I says to myself, ’Least said, soonest -mended,’ so I took ’em down and heaved ’em. It hurt Juno some—” He -smoothed the gray back gently, “But she feels all right about it now, I -guess, same as we do.” - - - - -V - -UNCLE WILLIAM was wondering whether he could leave the frying-pan -another day. He had promised Benjy he would come up... the sun was -shining and Benjy needed him. He went to the door, with the pan in his -hand, and looked out. He took in great sniffs of salt air, looking -over his spectacles at the moor and the sky light on the rocks and the -stretch of his face was mild and happy, and his look rested casually -on a figure that had left the beach and was coming up the rocky path. -Presently he leaned forward, waving the frying-pan back and forth. -“‘Morning, George,” he called. - -The young man came on, with even, swift steps that did not hurry. He -held an envelope in his hand. “Letter for you, Uncle,” he said. - -Uncle William laid down the frying-pan and held out his hand. A mild -and benevolent curiosity held the big face. His look welcomed the -whole world shut up in the bit of envelope. He took it and studied the -inscription and pushed up his spectacles, looking at the young man with -satisfaction. “Set down, Georgie,” he said—“It’s from Celia.” - -“Who’s Celia?” asked the young man. He seated himself on a rock and -plucked a stem of grass, taking it in his teeth. - -Uncle William looked at him again and settled slowly into the -doorway—filling it, with the big, checked apron about him—“You ain’t -ever seen Celia, I reckon?” he said. - -“Don’t believe I have,” responded - -George. He was looking across the harbor, turning the bit of grass -between his teeth. His glance sought the envelope again, “Come from -around here?” he asked. - -Uncle William opened it with slow, careful fingers. “Well, not exactly -round here.” He drew out the sheet and smoothed it on his knee and -rubbed his fingers on his apron, and took up the paper, holding it -arm’s length. “It’s somebody ’t ’s coming to live with us,” he explained -kindly. - -“Oh—?” - -Uncle William read on. He laid down the paper and took off his glasses, -waving them at the landscape. “Some like a woman!” he said. - -George turned and looked behind him. - -“I don’t mean off there,” said Uncle William, “I mean here—what she -says,” He took up the letter, “She says she can’t come yet—not just -yet.” He mumbled to the words kindly.... “It’s her clothes,” he -volunteered, “She’s got to get some new ones or fix her old ones, or -suthin—I don’t just understand what ’tis she’s doin’.” - -“Don’t need to, do you!” said the young man. His tone was even, and a -little contemptuous. - -Uncle William eyed him a minute. “You wa ’n’t ever much acquainted with -women, was ye, George?” - -“I don’t know as I was,” said the young man. “Too busy, I guess.” - -“Yes—you al’ays keep a-doin’—same as I do,” said Uncle William. “But -I’ve kind o’ watched ’em—between times—women. They’re interestin’,” he -added, “—a leetle more interesting ’n men be, I reckon.” - -A little smile held the face opposite him. “Men are good enough for me,” -he said. - -“You can talk to men—sensible—know what they mean.” - -“That’s it,” said Uncle William, “I reckon that’s what I like about -women—you can’t tell what they mean—it keeps you guessing, kind of—makes -you feel lively in your mind.” - -“My mind’s lively enough without that,” said George carelessly. His eye -was on the dark water and the little white-caps that rode on it. - -“Well, I do’ ’no’. I like to have a good many things to think about—when -I’m settin’,” said Uncle William, “and when I’m sailin’. I keep quite -a lot of ’em tucked away in my mind somewheres—and fetch ’em out when I -have a minute or two, quiet-like, to myself.” He touched the letter in -his hand, almost reverently, “The’s suthin about women ’t I can’t -make out—” he said, “If it’s a wedding or a funeral or going away, -or whatever ’tis—most the first thing they think about is their -clothes—like Celia here—” he touched the letter again.... “Now, that’s -interestin’—’bout their clothes, ain’t it!” He beamed on him. - -The young man returned the look tolerantly. “Foolishness,” he said. - -Uncle William nodded. “I know—foolishness for you and me and Andy—and -for Benjy, mebbe. But ’tain’t foolishness for women. You can see that, -the way they do it. It’s kind o’ like goin’ to church to ’em and they -don’t really feel right without they’re doing it.... It’s kind o’ pretty -to see ’em—al’ays a-makin’ and plannin’—and makin’ ’em for the little -ones ’fore they come—turning ’em over, and showin’ ’em to other women, -like enough—not sayin’ much—just lookin’ at ’em.” - -The young man on the rock stirred uneasily. - -Uncle William went on hastily. “I reckon it ain’t wrong for Celia to -think about getting her clothes ready.” He was smiling at the letter. -“It’s when they stop thinkin’ about ’em that it’s wrong.... Why, it’s -kind o’ awful!” he added severely. - -The young man laughed out. Suddenly he stopped and looked at Uncle -William. “—Like Andy’s wife’s!” he said. - -“Like Harr’et,” assented Uncle William. “Harr’et ’ll wear -anything—anything ’t covers her, that is. She ’d wear sailcloth, I -reckon, if ’t wa ’n’t so hard to sew—old ones, you know, ’t was wore out -for sailin’. Harr’et wouldn’t waste new sails on her.... And that kind -o’ hard way she has of doin’ her hair—like a doughnut—only harder—” -Uncle William rubbed the back of his head reflectively. “I do’ ’no’ what -’tis about Harr’et. I al’ays feel’s if the woman part of her was gone -off somewheres.... It’s the woman part ’t makes ’em interestin’, I -reckon. You al’ays kind o’ wonder—” - -“Andy don’t wonder much,” said the young man. “He’s learned mostly.” He -was regarding Uncle William curiously and his face had an alert look. “I -never thought about women that way before,” he said, turning the bit -of grass in his teeth. “You make ’em seem interesting, Uncle William—as -interesting as a boat—or fishing—or doing arithmetic.” He laughed out. - -“Celia’s letter reads to me ’s if she ’d kind o’ keep you guessing,” -said Uncle William, taking it up. - -“I’ve got to be going,” said George. He stood up. - -“Now, don’t you go yet awhile, Georgie.” Uncle William got to his feet, -looking about him, “The’s two-three little things I wanted to ask you -about. The ketch to my cupboard door don’t work good.” - -They went into the house and Uncle William tucked the letter behind the -clock. - -The young man examined the lock and took a file from his pocket and -filed the catch a little, whistling softly. His face had a keen, happy -look. - -Uncle William filled the tea-kettle and put it on and came across and -bent over the young man, a hand on either knee. “I al’ays like to watch -ye doin’ things, George. You do ’em so kind o’ neat.” - -The young man snapped the catch two or three times in the lock—“That ’ll -work,” he said. He got to his feet, slipping the file into his pocket. - -“Benjy needs somebody like you up to his place,” said Uncle William. - -“I thought he ’d got a man from Boston.” The tone was non-committal and -dry. The young man was looking at the window. - -“Well, I guess he’s got somebody—He’s from Boston—yes. Benjy’s a good -deal bothered,” added Uncle William hopefully. - -George shook his head. “I don’t want to be building—as long as the -fishing suits me.” - -“Cod—so far,” said Uncle William. - -“You can ’t tell what ’ll be along any day now,” said the young man. He -moved toward the door. - -“You think it over, George,” said Uncle William—he held up a benignant -hand and cut off the answer—“You just think it over. Mebbe he won’t need -you. But if he does—you ’ll hev to help him out, I guess. He’s livin’ on -the Island now, you know, same as the rest of us.” - - - - -VI - -UNCLE WILLIAM and Benjy had been away all day—up at the new house—and -Andy’s wife had sent dinner to them.... They came home in the dusk, -hungry and tired. “Harr’et’s cooking ’do ’t to be e’t hot,” said Uncle -William. He looked up at his own house. “Hello! somebody’s visitin’ us.” - -Benjy’s eye lighted. A glow from the red room shone in the dusk. “It’s -the new girl,” he said. They quickened their pace a little. - -Uncle William went ahead and opened the door. The little room was full -of warm light and the pleasant smell of cooking. By the stove knelt a -young girl, her hand on the oven door. She looked up as they came in and -closed the door carefully. Then she got to her feet—a little smile on -her face. “I’ve come, Mr. Benslow,” she said. - -“We’re glad to see you,” said Uncle William heartily. He glanced at the -table. “‘D you find dishes enough for a meal?” - -A little dimple in her cheek came out, and ran away. “I washed a few,” -she replied. - -Uncle William’s eye ran along the shelf over the sink. “You’ve done ’em -all!” - -“Not quite—I put some of them outside by the door—pots and kettles and -pans—” - -“That’s what I fell over,” said Uncle William, “I gen’ally keep ’em -under the sink—out o’ sight—kind of—?” He looked at her. - -“I saw where you kept them.” She had dear, searching eyes and quick -little movements that ran ahead of her and did things for her. “Supper -is ready,” she said. “The biscuit are just right.” She took the biscuit -from the oven and set chairs for them at the table and flitted about, -with quick, soft steps. Juno, on her lounge, huddled herself a little -and turned her halfshut eyes on the swish of skirts. By and by she got -down and came over to Uncle William. - -He fed her a bit of fish and she returned to her lounge, closing her -eyes. “She knows suthin’ ’s happened,” said Uncle William, “Her mind’s -going round and round.” - -Bodet smiled. “She looks placid enough.” - -“You can’t tell that way,” said Uncle William. “Women ain’t like -men-folks—not just like ’em. They ’ll smile and look polite and fix -their faces—and then, all of a sudden, things ’ll happen.” - -A little laugh bubbled over from the sink. - -Uncle William turned in his chair and looked at her. He adjusted his -glasses and looked again. “‘D you say anything, Celia?” - -“No, sir—I just thought it was kind of funny about women—” - -“So ’tis,” said Uncle William, “It’s funny’s anything I know—the way -women be. I take a sight o’ comfort thinkin’ about women and the way -they be.” - -“Yes, sir—would you like some more tea?” - -Uncle William waved it away—“Not another mite. We’ve had a good supper.” -He pushed back from the table. “Now, we ’ll help you clear up a little—” -He looked about him. - -“I don’t want anybody to touch my dishes,” she said promptly. - -Uncle William looked at her over his glasses. “I was going to show you -where things be,” he said. - -“I know where everything is.’.rdquo; The little smile played about her -lips. “And I don’t need any help.” She whisked the cloth from the table -and bore it away. - -Uncle William’s eye followed her. - -“There’s a letter for you.” She took it from behind the dock and laid it -on the table. - -Uncle William took it up with slow fingers. “I gen’ally read my letters -first thing,” he said reflectively. - -“It’s better to have your supper first.” She disappeared out of the door -and they heard a little rattle of pans. Uncle William chuckled. “Some -like the sou’-west wind,” he said. “You read it, Benjy.” - -Bodet held out his hand. “They’re in Greenland,” he said, glancing at -the postmark. - -“I reckoned they ’d be.” Uncle William reached down the map and they -bent over the table, talking and tracing the line of travel and reading -bits from the letter. - -The girl, as she moved about the room, glanced at them contentedly now -and then. When she had finished her work, she took off her apron -and folded it up. “I’m going now,” she announced, “I’ll be up in the -morning—along about six.” She moved toward the door. - -Uncle William looked up, blinking. He had come from Labrador at a lively -rate.... “Why—you can’t go—alone, Celia. You wait a minute whilst I see -about getting ready to go with you.” - -“I know the way,” she said promptly, “I came up.” - -“The’s rocks,” said Uncle William. He was lighting a lantern. - -“I know about the rocks—I’ll take the lantern—thank you, sir.” She went -out of the door and the light of her lantern flitted along down the path -over the cliff. - -Uncle William’s eye followed it. He chuckled softly and looked at -Benjy. “A good deal like the sou’-west wind,” he said, “a little -west-by-sou’-west, mebbe—and blowin’ hard.” - -“She’s a pretty girl,” said Bodet, watching the light out in the dark. - -“She’s a good girl,” said Uncle William. He looked silently at the -shining rows of dishes over the sink—He crossed the room and opened the -cupboard door under the sink and looked in—“The’ ain’t a dish left,” he -said solemnly, “She’s washed ’em all!” - - - - -VII - -I’VE got a fire made, Celia. You come right along in,” said Uncle -William. He regarded her kindly as she stood in the doorway, her curls -freshened in the wind and her cheeks touched with clear pink—like the -morning outside. - -She cast a quick glance at the disordered room and came in. - -Uncle William retreated a little. “I was cal’lating to clear it up ’fore -you got here,” he said. He gathered in an armful of boots and shoes and -slippers that had strayed away and looked about him a little helplessly— - -A smile crept into her face and lingered in it. “You’ve got somebody to -take care of you now,” she said. “You put those right down and bring me -a pail of water and some wood—” she looked in the box, “—and a little -fine stuff—to hurry with. Nobody could hurry with that—” She cast a -scornful hand at the wood in the box. - -“‘Tis kind o’ green,” admitted Uncle William. He took the water-pail -and went outside, looking at the morning with slow content and moving -in supreme restfulness toward the well. When he returned the room was in -order, a smell of coffee filled the air, and the table by the window was -set, in the sunshine, with plates for two. - -“Benjy up?” asked Uncle William. He glanced toward the inner door as he -set the pail on its shelf. - -She nodded quickly. “I called him,” she said. - -“I gen’ally let him sleep,” replied Uncle William. - -“Better for him to be up.” She filled a dipper of water and carried it -to the table, filling the glasses. - -“Ain’t you going to have breakfast with us?” asked Uncle William, -glancing at the table. - -“I’ve had mine—I brought in the kindling-wood myself,” she added -pointedly. - -Uncle William’s face fell. “I did kind o’ forget—” The door opened and -Benjy came out—yawning, but brisk. “Well, we’ve got a good start,” he -said. He nodded to the girl and sat down. - -Uncle William looked relieved. “I thought you ’d kind o’ mind getting up -so early?” he said. - -Bodet laughed out. “I don’t mind getting up—It’s waiting for breakfast -that I mind.” - -Uncle William looked out of the window. “I go kind o’ slow on -breakfasts,” he admitted. He craned his neck a little—“Guess George is -going out.” He glanced behind him. The girl had stepped outside the door -a minute and Uncle William leaned forward with a confidential whisper, -“She ’d make a dretful good wife for a young man, wouldn’t she!” - -“You ’d better eat your breakfast, William—and be thankful,” said Bodet -severely. - -Uncle William made no reply. A look of deep craft was in his eye. When -Bodet started off, he lingered behind. - -“I’ll be’long byme-by, Benjy,” he said. He nodded to him kindly. “You go -tell Ordway what you want and I’ll talk to him ’bout it when I come. I -reckon he ’ll do it the way you want it,” he said hopefully. - -Bodet disappeared up the road, and Uncle William pottered about the -door. By and by he went in. - -The girl glanced up quickly. “I thought you ’d gone.” - -“No, I ain’t gone.” Uncle William’s tone was cheerful. “The’s two-three -little things I want to tend to.” He strayed into the bedroom and when -he came out she was seated by the window paring potatoes. “I’ll have to -soak ’em an hour,” she said briskly, “You ought to buy some new ones.” - -“They be kind o’ old,” said Uncle William. He glanced past her, out of -the window. “Nice place to set,” he suggested. - -She did not look up. - -“Guess George Manning’s going out,” said Uncle William. - -“Who’s George Manning?” said Celia. She finished another potato, with -efficiency, and dropped it into the pan of water beside her. - -“George Manning—He’s about the nicest young man on the Island, I guess,” -said Uncle William innocently. - -A little laugh flitted at the potatoes. - -She glanced out of the window and returned to her work. - -Uncle William’s look deepened. “He ’d make a dretful good husband for -somebody.” - -“I don’t believe much in husbands,” she replied. She held the knife in -her hand, and she was looking at him with candid, laughing eyes. - -Uncle William returned the look reproachfully. “You don’t have no call -to say that, Celia!” - -“I’ve been engaged,” she replied promptly. She took up another potato -with a little glance of scorn at it. - -Uncle William leaned forward. “When you goin’ to be married?” he asked -happily, “I might ’a’ known you was engaged—nice as you be!” - -She looked at him. “I’m not engaged any more,” she replied, “I just -was.” - -Uncle William’s face was full of sympathy. “I didn’t know ’t you ’d lost -anybody,” he said. “You poor little girl!” - -She looked up again—a little puzzled line between her eyes, “He wasn’t -so much—to lose—” she said slowly. - -“When was it he died?” asked Uncle William. - -She stared at him. Then she laughed and threw out her hands in a quick -gesture. “You thought he died!” she said. - -“Didn’t you say so?” demanded Uncle William. - -“I didn’t mean that—” She returned, a little guiltily, to her potatoes. - -Uncle William looked at her. - -“I just meant I wasn’t going to marry him—nor anybody!” She lifted her -head with a little defiant movement. - -Uncle William’s gaze was sober. “You don’t mean you promised him and -then wouldn’t—?” He was looking at her over his spectacles. - -She nodded her head over the potatoes, biting her lip a little. “I only -loved his hair anyway,” she said. There was silence in the room, and the -faint sound of voices came from the beach. - -“He had curly hair,” she said, “and it was yellow—like gold—and all the -other girls wanted him—” - -“George’s hair is black,” said Uncle William hopefully, “—most black.” - -She looked at him—and the eyes danced a little behind their mistiness, -“I wouldn’t marry a man—not if his hair was coal-black, nor if ’twas -yellow, nor brown, nor any color—I’ve got you to take care of and that’s -enough!” She glanced at him, almost tenderly, and carried the potatoes -to the sink. “It makes you feel foolish,” she said, splashing the water -into the pan and moving the potatoes about—“It’s foolish caring about -folks and thinking they’re beautiful—and then finding out that they’re -selfish—and stupid and lazy—!” - -Uncle William looked out at the sun. “It’s getting late,” he said. - -He moved toward the door and stood with his back to her. “I like to have -folks get married, Celia—” he said slowly, “I like to think about homes -and buildin’ ’em on the Island—and little ones coming—Don’t you like to -think about it that way?” - -Her hands dabbled in the water thoughtfully. “I don’t know’s I do,” she -said. “I’ve got a home now—with you—” - -“It ain’t real—not a real home,” said Uncle William quickly. - -“It’s the nicest one I ever had,” she said. A little laugh lighted her -face—“and it will be the nicest one that ever was when I’ve cleaned up a -little.” She dried her hands on the towel, looking down at them. “I know -what you mean, Mr. Benslow—about ’little ones’—I guess every woman knows -about that—and wants ’em,” she added, under her breath, to the towel. -“But there’s some things we can’t have!” She took down the broom from -the wall. “Now, if you’re going out, I’ll sweep up a little.” - -Uncle William did not look back. “Andy’s coming,” he said, “I guess we -’ll go see how Benjy’s getting on—Don’t you mind anything I said, Celia. -I’m kind o’ old and foolish, like enough.” The girl did not reply. But -when he had gone, she came to the door and stood looking after him—and -the dancing look in her eyes grew wistful and sweet. - - - - -VIII - -WE used to meet on this rock when we was boys,” said Uncle William, -sitting down, “—You remember them times, Andy?” - -“I don’t remember nothin’,” said Andy. Uncle William looked at him. “I -do’ ’no’ how you forget so easy.... I can see it all, just as plain as -you be—settin’ there—you and me and Benjy, racing to get to this rock -first—and planning suthin’—suthin’ ’t we hadn’t o’t to.... Seems kind o’ -good to have Benjy back—just ’s if he ’d never been off the island?” - -“He’s changed some,” said Andy. “Well—outside he’s peaked up a -little—but inside, I can’t see a mite o’ difference. He gets mad just -about ’s easy ’s ever,” said Uncle William contentedly.... “Now, this -morning—” Uncle William moved his hand toward the horizon, “He’s gone -over to his place, all kind o’ boilin’-like. He stopped and gazed at -a figure that loomed on the horizon at the end of the long road. They -watched the light, high-stepping figure come swiftly down the road. - -“He’s got something on his mind,” said Uncle William, “I can see by -the way his elbows act—kind o’ stiff so. I reckon that contractor does -bother him—a good deal,” he added thoughtfully. - -The man came on quickly, lessening his gait a little as he neared the -rock, and taking off his hat to the breeze. “Feels good,” he said, -nodding. He seated himself on the big rock. “Well—I’ve done it.” He -turned his head slowly, taking in great whiffs of the fresh, bracing -air. “I’ve fired him,” he said. - -“You hev!” Uncle William’s face beamed. “That’s good—He’s fired him, -Andy—” - -“When’s he going to leave?” asked Andy. - -“He’s going to leave just as soon as he can pack,” said Bodet with -satisfaction, “He’s stood all he can—and so have I.” He threw out his -thin legs and looked at them. “I don’t think I ever knew a man that -irritated me the way he did,” he said reflectively. - -“I see he kind o’ did,” said Uncle William. - -Andy looked out to sea. “Harr’et was boardin’ him,” he said, “She was -cal’-lating on the board money—right along.” His eye dropped to Bodet. - -The man threw out an impatient leg. - -“Now, don’t you mind about that,” said Uncle William hastily, “Benjy ’ll -fix it up all right—He’s got to have somebody to build his house, and -it’s got to be somebody that ’ll eat—somebody with a stomach.” - -The thin man sat up, smiling a little. - -“I wish to the Lord I knew whose stomach it was!” he said, “It’s like -trying to build a house in heaven—having to import contractors and -masons and plumbers—” - -Uncle William chuckled—— “We gen’ally use the home-folks, round here,” -he said after a pause. - -Bodet looked at him a little. “You wouldn’t build a twenty-thousand -dollar house just with the home-folks, would you!” - -“I do’ ’no’ why not,” said Uncle William, “It ain’t so much different -from any other house, fur as I see—just more of it—more spread. There’s -George Manning,” he suggested. - -“The carpenter?” Bodet’s lip smiled. - -“Well—he ain’t exactly a carpenter—not exactly,” said Uncle William. -“He’s a fisherman too—first-class—and he can steer any kind of a craft -you want to rig up. He was captain on the Halifax Line one spell.” Uncle -William’s eye followed the boats passing across the harbor. “An’ he’s a -kind o’ mason, and a first-rate painter—I do’ ’no’s you could git a man -knows more ’n George Manning does.... I never see the thing yet George -wa ’n’t willing to tackle. Seems’s if he kind o’ liked to try his hand -at things folks said couldn’t be done. I’ve seen him sit up night after -night figgering on things—” - -“He ’ll have to figure some on this,” said Bodet. He drew the plans from -his pocket. “This is what we’ve just split on—Ordway and I—” He spread -out the paper, holding it between his hands. Uncle William moved over a -little toward it. Andy dropped an eye from above.... “This is it,” said -Bodet. “You see how that roof-line comes down, don’t you?” - -“Uh-huh,” Uncle William looked at it with pleased smile—“Comfy, ain’t -it—Sort o’ makes a house look like an old hen with her chickens.” - -“That’s it,” said Bodet quickly, “It’s the very thing I want—a house -that settles down among the rocks as if it belonged there—The architect -got the idea all right—from photographs. But he hadn’t been here and we -hadn’t allowed for that dip to the south—You know it?” - -Uncle William nodded. “Drops fo’-five feet, I should think?” - -“Six—: a little over six,” replied Bodet, “and this is the kind of thing -he wanted—Ordway wanted!” He took out a rough pencil sketch and held it -at arm’s length. “He wants to run it out here in the air, this way, and -put a lattice-work underneath.... paint it green, I suppose.” He snorted -a little. - -“Does look kind o’ funny—don’t it, Andy?” said Uncle William. - -“Looks good enough—far as I see,” said Andy, “I’ve seen a lot of houses -built that way.” - -“—So have I,” broke in Bodet. He crushed the paper in his hand. “It’s a -seaside cottage,” he said, “—a regular seaside cottage!” - -“I do’ ’no’ what you feel that way about it for,” said Andy, “if ’tis a -cottage and ’tis built on the sea—right along side—” - -Bodet got impatiently to his feet—“Ordway couldn’t see, either. That’s -why I fired him—’seaside cottage!’—” He fizzed a little and straightened -his garments and shook his legs. - -“There, there, Benjy,—don’t you mind. I’m a-thinkin’ about it,” said -Uncle William soothingly. - -Benjy smiled—the thin, sweet smile that seemed to come of itself from -somewhere behind the high, nervous features, when Uncle William’s voice -spoke to it, “All right, William, I won’t mind—now I’ve got Ordway off -my hands. I thought one time he would drive me crazy—” - -“I didn’t know but he would, too,” said Uncle William, “You acted kind -o’ queer.” - -“Well, I felt kind o’ queer,” responded Bodet dryly. “Now, about -Manning—We ’ll go talk things over with him.... He might do—with a -little watching.” - - - - -IX - -BENJY thought mebbe you ’d do the whole thing, George!” - -The three men stood on the site of the new house. Across the rocks and -moor Uncle William’s chimney showed against the sky, and below them the -water of the harbor dimpled in little waves of light. - -Benjamin Bodet stood looking across it, a kind of quiet satisfaction in -his face. - -“He’s been a good deal bothered,” said Uncle William to the younger man. -They moved a little aside and looked at him. “What he wants,” said -Uncle William, “is somebody that ’ll take everything off him—do all the -figgerin’ and plannin’ that comes up and trot round and get things—men, -you know—and things you run out of and can’t get on the Island. It’s -kind o’ hard building out at sea,” he said tentatively, “But you could -do it?” He turned to him. - -“Yes, I could do it—if he wants me to,” said Manning. He held the stalk -of grass between his teeth and it turned slowly as he talked, “I’d like -to build a house like this one—such as he’s planning for.... There must -be a good many things come up, you won’t know how to do.” He moved his -hand toward the circumference about them, with a half gesture. - -“That’s it,” said Uncle William, “That’s just what I told Benjy.... -You take the whole thing over—tell him how much ’twill cost, and so -on—figger it out?” - -“Beforehand!” said the man with a slow look. - -Uncle William nodded. “He wants to know before he begins. I told him -mebbe you couldn’t do it—but he’s kind o’ set on it.” He looked at the -other a little anxiously. The man chewed the bit of grass in silence. - -“Ordway ’d done it,” said Uncle William simply. - -Manning turned a slow eye on him. “How ’d he know he could get men—here -on the Island—and keep ’em!” he demanded. - -“Well, he didn’t know it, George.” Uncle William chuckled a little. “I -reckon he ’d ’a’ learned quite a few things about the Island—if he ’d -’a’ kep’ on it.” - -“I reckon he would,” said the man with a slow smile. “I can’t tell -Bodet what it ’ll cost—What if a barge-load of lumber should be held up, -getting here?—Might have to wait weeks—Suppose I can’t get anybody to -board ’em—” - -“Andy ’ll board ’em,” said Uncle William. - -“Umph,” said the man. - -“An’ Andy’s wife—you want to put her in. She might up an’ say she -wouldn’t, any day?” - -Manning shook his head. “I can’t sign any contract, and I can’t tell him -what it will cost—not within a good many dollars—a house like that—but -if he wants me to build it, I’ll take it and do my best for him.” - -“The’s a good many things might happen,” allowed Uncle William, turning -it slowly in his mind. “The Widow Deman’s well might go dry and then -where ’d you be, with your mortar and plaster and cement, if that well -run dry?” - -The man looked at him. - -“You ’d want to put the well in,” Uncle William suggested, “if you -should make the contract—” - -“You can’t clutter up a contract that way. I’m not going to make any -contract to build a house on this Island.” - -“He ’ll want to do what’s fair,” said Uncle William. “S’pose you go see -about the well whilst I talk with him,” he added diplomatically. - -The man moved in the direction of a little house a few rods away and -Uncle William turned toward the tall figure pacing back and forth on the -short-cropped turf. - -Bodet turned as he came up. “Who cares about building a house!” he said. -“Look at that sky and water and all this—!” His gesture took in the -rocks and turf and the flock of sheep feeding their way up the hill to -the horizon. - -Uncle William’s eye followed it all placidly. “You do get over being in -a hurry—up here,” he said slowly, “I reckon it’s because the Lord’s done -so well by it—got a chance to finish things up—without folks meddling -too much—it seems kind o’ foolish to hurry ’bout things.... Well, George -’ll do your house for you—if you want him to.” - -“I’m willing to try him,” said the man with a little note of -condescension. “Where’s he gone!” - -“He’s just stepped over to the Widow Deman’s well,” said Uncle William. - -“He ’ll sign the contract, of course!” - -“Well—” Uncle William hesitated. “He ’ll sign one, I guess, if you say -so—If I was buildin’ a house, I’d just go ahead and build—if I could get -George Manning.” - -The tall man fidgeted a little. “Suppose he takes a notion—feathers his -own nest while he’s building my house,” he said at last. - -Uncle William’s eyes grew large—then they laughed. “George Manning ain’t -a bird of the air, Benjy—and he’s pretty well past feathers now.... -Curious, I didn’t understand about that contract,” he said after a -little pause. “It never come over me that you thought George wouldn’t -do the square thing by you... and I guess he wouldn’t ’a’ got it through -his head all summer—that you thought he was going to cheat you—! Lucky -I didn’t think of it,” he added, “I’d ’a’ made a muss of it somehow and -you wouldn’t ’a’ got your house built—not this year, anyhow.” He looked -at him sympathetically. - -Bodet smiled. “I didn’t suppose there was a man left, you could trust -like that,” he said. - -“Well, George ain’t left exactly. He’s just here with the rest of us,” -said Uncle William—“Folks mean to do ’bout what’s right up here, I -guess. And I do’ ’no’ but that’s about as easy way as any. I’ve tried -both kinds of places—honest and say nothin’—and places where they cheats -and signs papers, and I do’ ’no’ ’s it’s any better ’n our way—just -going along and doing as well as you can and expectin’ other folks -to.... He’s coming back,” said Uncle William. They watched the young -man move across the rocks toward them—thin and spare-built and firm. His -face, tempered fine like a piece of old bronze, held a thoughtful look, -and the stalk of grass between his teeth turned with gentle motion as he -came. - -“How ’d you find it?” said Uncle William. - -He looked up. “It’s all right—fourteen feet of water, I guess.” He drew -a slip of paper from his pocket and turned to Bodet—“I’ve been running -it over in my mind a little,” he said slowly “and if that’s any use to -you, I’m willing to sign it.” - -Bodet took the paper in his thin fingers and swung his glasses to his -nose. Uncle William looked at him with pleased smile. - -The glasses swung down from the long nose. “What has the Widow Deman’s -well got to do with my house!” he said expressively? - -Uncle William leaned forward. “That’s my idee, Benjy.” He looked over -the high shoulder— - -“I will build your house for $25,000, provided and allowed the Widow -Deman’s well holds out. - -“(Signed) George Manning.” - -“That’s right, George—that’s fust-rate,” said Uncle William, “You’ve put -it high enough to cover you—and Benjy, too.” - -“It would seem so,” said Bodet. “Ordway had figured twenty thousand—and -he’s not cheap.” - -“I told George to make it high—more ’n it could possibly figger up to,” -said Uncle William with satisfaction, “so ’s ’t you ’d get something -back—’stead o’ having to pay out more ’n you expected to. I thought that -was what you wanted the contract for,” he added significantly. - -“I see—Well, it’s a bargain—and without any pieces of paper.” He -tore what was in his hands through, and handed it back with a little -courteous gesture of decision—“If I’m going to build on the Island, I’ll -build as the Island builds.” - -“That’s right, Benjy. Now, let’s have a look at them plans.” Uncle -William found a rock and sat down. The other two men moved from point -to point, driving in stakes, and pulling them out, measuring lines and -putting down new ones. While they were doing it, a big wind blew in -around and proceeded to pile up clouds and roll them up the hill behind -them. Uncle William watched the clouds and George Manning and Bodet, -moving to and fro before them. - -“Manning says it can’t be done,” said Bodet, walking over to him. Two -straight wrinkles stood between his eyes. - -“I don’t see how it can be—not yet,” said the man. He held out the plan. -“He wants his chimney—” - -Uncle William nodded. “I know—where the old one was.” - -“But that chimney isn’t any good. You’ve got to build from the ground -up—You can’t use the old foundation—?” - -“Well, not exactly use it, mebbe.” Uncle William looked at him -thoughtfully. “I do’ ’no’s I can tell you, George, what he wants it -that way for—You see he set by that chimney when he was a boy—and the’s -something about it—about the idee, you know?” - -The carpenter looked at him with slow, smiling eyes. “‘Tain’t the -chimney, then—He kind o’ likes the idea of a chimney—does he?... He -didn’t say anything about the idea,” he added, “He just kind o’ fussed -around when I tried to shift her—” He looked at the paper in his hand. -“Well—I can’t tell—yet. I’ve got to figure on it—I’ll go down now and -order my lumber, I guess.” He moved away toward the road and Uncle -William got up. - -He crossed over to the old chimney and stood looking toward the hill -that mounted above it. The sun had disappeared and the dark turf was -soft.... Long reaches of turf and the cropping sheep that moved across -it in slow shapes. Uncle William drew a deep breath and turned to the -man who stood silent beside him—his eyes on the hill. “Does seem like -home, don’t it, Benjy?” he said quietly, in the big, deep voice that -boomed underneath like the sea. - - - - -X - -THE young carpenter approached Bodet cautiously with his solution of the -roof-line. They had talked it over a dozen times and Bodet had become -restlessly impatient.... Ordway might be right, after all.... He looked -at different forms of lattice-work and stone foundations and swore -softly at a terrace—Ordway’s idea—with morning glories alongside.... -Uncle William, any day, at any time of day, was in favor of a new plan -altogether. He stood ready to furnish details—like his own house, mebbe, -only bigger.... After this suggestion, every time it came up, he went -out and sat on the rocks a long while and looked at the water. Andy -coming by hailed him. “What you doing?” he called. - -“Just a-settin’ here a little,” replied Uncle William. - -“Ain’t Benjy to home?” demanded Andy. - -“Yes, he’s to home,” admitted William. - -Andy looked toward the house. - -“I wouldn’t go in, if I was you,” said William, “He’s kind o’ tending to -things—in his mind.” - -But if Bodet fretted at delays and slow decisions and failure of -material to arrive, he caught the spirit of the place, after a little, -and settled down to it and held up work—a week at a time—while he -changed details or pottered over new ones. Uncle William—in his -element—went back and forth between the old chimney-place and his house, -carrying ideas and bricks with impartial hand. George Manning, with one -eye on his plans and the other on his men, pushed the work or held it -back, as the wind blew. When the men grumbled over a foundation wall -torn out and put in again, with a hair’s breadth of difference, he -looked at them with slow, sympathetic eye and admitted that it wasn’t so -very much different, maybe—just enough to look different, somehow. - -It was when he had studied on the roofline a week or more, that he came -in one morning—a look of cautious elation in his face. - -Bodet sat before the fire reading day-before-yesterday’s paper. Uncle -William was pottering about, finishing the last of the dishes, and Celia -was down at, Andy’s helping Harriet who was ill. - -Bodet looked up as the young man came in, and laid down his paper. “How -is it coming on?” he said. The tone was mild. He had had a good night’s -rest, and he had come somehow to share Uncle William’s belief that -Manning would find a way out—“only give him time enough and suthin’ to -figger on.” - -The young man seated himself on the red lounge, his hat between his -knees. “I don’t suppose you ’d like going up and down stairs?” he said. - -Bodet looked at him a little quizzically and swung his glasses to his -nose. “That depends,” he replied. - -“It won’t be stairs exactly,” said Manning, “just steps, maybe. You drop -the floor of the south room to get your level and then put some steps -here—” He came over with the paper. - -Bodet took it in cautious fingers. - -Manning bent over him. “There’s the living-room and the fire-place,” He -indicated the rough lines, “—just where you want them—You kind of look -down into the room, you see, when the door’s open—instead of all on a -level—?” - -“I see.” Bodet studied it with lifting face. - -Uncle William came over and stood by them, his dish towel on his arm and -his glasses alert—“The house sort o’ climbs down the rocks, don’t it?” -he suggested. “I’ve seen them that way—foreign parts—a lot.” The glow in -his face swept the room. “I do’ ’no’ how we didn’t come to think of it, -fust thing—easy as settin’.” - -“Just about,” said Bodet. “How did you get it?” He looked at the young -man. “You never saw a room like that, did you?” - -“No, I never saw one,” he replied slowly—“but something ’d got to give -way somewheres. You wouldn’t let the roof-line be touched, nor the -ground, and there wasn’t anything left to give way—but the floor. I -guess it kind of dropped down by itself—while I was figuring on it.” He -looked at it fondly. - -“It improves the thing fifty per cent,” said Bodet. He held off the -paper, scanning it with happy vision, “We ’ll have a little railing -here, with carving on it, and something leading up to it—It’s the -feature of the place.” He handed it back. “Go ahead with it. There isn’t -anything else to decide, is there?” - -“No. Things are coming on.” He took the paper, tucking it in his pocket. -“The ’Happy Thought’ got in last night with her lumber and the new -masons came this morning. I was kind of bothered about their not getting -here, and the Widow Deman’s well going dryer and dryer all the while, -and no brickwork getting done. I’ll go set ’em to work.” He nodded and -was gone. - -Uncle William looked after him with smiling face. “He’s a nice boy,” he -said, “You just can’t find a thing George can’t figger out.” - -“He’s a genius,” said Bodet thoughtfully, “He ought to be somewhere -besides on this island—somewhere he ’d have a chance.” - -“Chance for what?” asked Uncle William, with simple interest. - -“A chance to rise,” said Bodet with emphasis. “It’s all right for you -and me, William—old men—with our work done—” - -“Mine ain’t quite done,” said William, “—your bed and two-three things,” -and he flaxed around softly as if he were doing something. - -Bodet smiled at him. “Now what do you think you are doing, William?” he -said. “We’re out of it. We’ve had our day—we’ve worked and fought and -suffered—” - -“That’s it, Benjy.” Uncle William nodded, “We hev had a good time, ain’t -we? But I do’ ’no’s I ever had a better one ’n I’m having right here on -the Island—specially since you come,” he added. - -The other shook his head. “It won’t do, William. A young man must go out -into the world—and do things.” - -Uncle William hung his dish towel on the line. The big face in its tufts -of beard glowed at Benjy over the top—“I suppose folks ’d say there’s -bigger things I could be doin’—than wash dishes—but I do’ ’no’ what they -be,” he said thoughtfully. “There’s things I’d like better—it’s terrible -fussy—getting ’em clean and keepin’ ahead, so ’s ’t you ’ll have enough -for a meal—and I’m putty glad Celia’s coming back.... I’ve thought about -it, Benjy—a good many times—” He came over and sat down, “—’bout living -here on the Island. We don’t hurry much, but seems to me we get about as -much—about as much living as other folks do.” He looked at him over his -glasses. “We’ve got enough to eat, and beds—putty good beds—and things -to wear.... I keep a-thinking and a-thinking about it,” he went on, “and -I don’t see just what ’tis we o’t to scratch around so for.” - -“There’s education,” said the other, swinging his long glasses on their -slender chain. - -“Yes, you’ve got eddication, Benjy. I can see it—kind o’ the way you set -in a chair—different from my way.” Uncle William regarded his great legs -with kindly eye. “But I do’ ’no’ ’s you’re any happier—or your legs any -happier?” he said slowly. - -“You know I’m not happier.” The man turned with a quick smile, “There -are not many men happier than you are, William.” - -“No, I suppose the’ ain’t. Sometimes I wake up in the night and think -how happy I be—Seems kind o’ shiftless,” he added thoughtfully, “Like -enough, I ought to be out hustling for suthin’—But I do’ ’no’ what it ’d -be?” - -“Manning ought to get out into the world—and he’s going to—when he’s -finished my house.... It’s all right for you, William. You’ve earned a -rest.” - -Uncle William smiled. “I don’t want any rest, Benjy—no more ’n George -Manning—I like to keep a-doing—kind o’ gradual-like—al’ays did.... I -can’t see ’s the Lord hurries much,” he added, with a glance at the -little window. - -“You’re not the Lord, William,” said Benjy. - -William smiled at him—his broad, kind smile, “‘Twas a kind o’ funny -idea—my saying that—wa ’n’t it? I do’ ’no’ why I get to thinking about -things—and about me and the Lord.... I reckon it’s because I’m out in a -boat so much—kind o’ sailin’ around and watching how he does things—and -kind o’ enjoying his ways,” he added softly.... “The’s suthin’-about -it—suthin’ about the way the tides come in and the sun goes down and -the stars come out—that makes you feel glad. I’ve seen George Manning, -a good many times—when we was out, and had a ketch, and was coming along -in, towards dark—I’ve seen him set and look... and I knew he wa ’n’t -thinkin’ ’bout how many fish we ’d got—any more ’n. I was. You can’t -think how many fish you’ve got—more ’n about so long—” said Uncle -William thoughtfully. - -He glanced down the road. “There’s Celia comin’,” he said happily. -He went over and watched her come—“Don’t she kind o’ skim along good, -Benjy!” The smile on his big face kindled and deepened. “It’s most -too bad George ain’t here.” He looked back into the room with a shrewd -glance. “He never see anybody just like her—I reckon.” - -Bodet shook his head. “You better let well enough alone, William.” - -“Well, mebbe I will,” said Uncle William. “‘Twon’t hurt none for him to -see her—will it?... You got back pretty quick, Celia.”—He looked kindly -at her glowing cheeks, “How’s Harr’et?” - -“She’s feeling better,” said the girl. She glanced about the room, “You -did the dishes!—I didn’t mean you to do the dishes.” - -“I didn’t do ’em so very well,” said Uncle William. “We had company -whilst you was gone,” he added craftily. - -She looked at him—“That young fellow that’s building his house for him?” -She nodded at Bodet, who had taken his hat and gone outside. - -Uncle William nodded back—“That’s the one, Celia—You ain’t ever seen -him, have you?” - -“I’ve seen him out of the window,” she said shortly, “That’s near enough -for me—seeing him go by.” - -Uncle William’s face fell a little. “I guess I’ll go ’long up with -Benjy,” he said. - - - - -XI - -GEORGE MANNING looked about him with satisfaction. The walls of the -new house were up and boarded in—so much was safe. He knew Bodet might -appear any minute with a completely new plan—unless it could be staved -off—but he reflected comfortably, as he looked up at the great broadside -of boards before him, that he probably would not tear down the whole -thing any more.... The sound of saws and hammers came with a cheerful -falling rhythm—now together, and now in hurried broken notes—and the men -on the roof were singing—a great blond Swede leading them. - -Manning stepped into the living-room and stopped and gave a few -directions to the masons and then moved over to the window and looked -out. Far below him, the harbor reflected the dear sun and he squinted -across it, scanning the horizon for the little black steamer that was to -bring Portland cement and a consignment of windows. The windows had been -due three weeks now—and the work would be handicapped if they did not -come soon. He turned away and attacked his work, whistling softly. - -“Morning, George.” It was Uncle William—big and happy—in the doorway, -beaming down upon him. - -“Morning, Uncle—Mr. Bodet come up with you?” - -“He’s outside somewheres. He’s got a new idee—about the well.” - -Manning smiled a little—a shrewd, dry smile—and drew the plane toward -him, “I don’t mind his having new plans for wells,” he said. - -Uncle William sat down on a nail-keg and picked up a bit of pine, -feeling in his pocket for his knife. He drew it out, and squinted across -it, and opened the smaller blade, running it casually along his thumb. - -George Manning’s plane followed a curling shaving down the length of the -board and withdrew. There was a clean smell of pine mingling with the -salt air. - -Uncle William whittled a few minutes in silence. Then he looked -through the great window-space, to the harbor. “I feel queer,” he said -thoughtfully—“I feel dretful queer.” - -The plane skirled its shaving off and Manning stopped—looking at -him—“Anything wrong, Uncle William?” he asked. - -William shook his head. “I don’t mind so much having things wrong.... -I’m kind o’ used to it—having to fuss and fiddle some. It’s when things -are comfortable-like—what most folks call comfortable—that I get grumpy, -I guess.... We’ve got a new girl down to the house,” he added kindly. - -“Yes—I heard about her.” Manning’s eyes laughed. “Puts you out, don’t -it?” - -Uncle William nodded. “I’m a good deal surprised to see how I feel. I -cal’lated I’d come along up here—like a colt turned out to grass. Just -set around and watch things—same as ever—feeling kind o’ light in my -mind.... I don’t feel a mite light.” He sighed and returned to his -whittling. - -“You ’ll get used to it,” said Manning consolingly. - -“I do’ ’no’ whether I shall or not. It’s been quite a spell now—” Uncle -William held off his pine stick and looked at it. “I’m kind o’ wondering -if I didn’t like to have them dishes—” - -“To wash—?” - -“Well—not to wash exactly—but to leave around behind—suthin’ I’d o’t -to, and didn’t.... All the way up the road I keep kind o’ missing -’em—wishing I’d find ’em under the sink, mebbe, when I get back.... I -wouldn’t want to do ’em exactly, when I got there, I suppose. But I do -miss ’em.” He shook his head. - -Manning pushed a heap of shavings aside with his foot and bent to his -plane again. “I can find things enough, most any day—things I ought to -do—and don’t—easy job, Uncle William.” - -Uncle William looked at him. “You ought to be considerable happy, -George,” he said slowly. - -“Well—I am happy—as happy as most folks, I guess.” His shrewd, thin face -followed the plane with even look. “I’ve got enough to do—if that’s what -you mean.” He unscrewed his board from the bench and carried it across -the room. - -Uncle William’s eye followed him. “I suppose you never thought of -getting married, George?” he said casually. - -The young man shook his head at the board he was trying to fit in place. -“Never was tempted,” he said. He measured a length on the board and took -up his saw. - -Uncle William retired into his mind. Benjamin Bodet came and stood -in the door and looked at the two, and disappeared. The sound of the -hammers trooped in and out through the silence. - -Uncle William stood up, snapping his knife together. “I guess I’ll go -find Benjy,” he said. He wandered out and sat down on a rock near by. -Over the top of a scattered pile of lumber he could see Benjy’s head -moving back and forth. - -“Best kind of weather,” murmured Uncle William. He sat down. - -By and by Benjy appeared around the corner of the lumber. - -“We’re going to have dinner up here,” announced Uncle William. “Celia -sent word by Gunnion’s boy she ’d have it here by twelve, sharp.” Uncle -William’s face was guileless. - -Benjy sat down. “I can’t get it through Marshall’s head—what I want -about that well,” he said testily. “I’ll have to see Manning about it.” - -“George ’ll fix it for ye all right,” said Uncle William. - -“Have the windows come?” asked Bodet. - -“Not yet, I reckon—He didn’t say—You’re going to have a nice house, -Benjy!” His eyes rested on the rough frame, “It’s getting to look like I -thought ’twould—nice and low—kind o’ like an old hen, you know—spreading -her wings and settling down.” - -Bodet’s face followed his look. “It’s coming out all right. Your George -Manning knows his business—knows what he’s about.” - -“He’s a nice boy,” said Uncle William. “The’s things about him might be -different—might be a little different,” he added cautiously. - -“I don’t know what they are. But I shall have a chance to find out, I -suppose—before we’re through.” - -“Oh, he ’ll do this all right.” - -Bodet stared at him a little. “He’s not likely to have a much bigger job -on hand—is he?” - -“Mebbe not,” said Uncle William hastily, “I do’ ’no’ what I mean, like -enough. I just had a feeling—kind of a feeling, that George wa ’n’t -perfect.” - -Bodet laughed out. “I should hope not—if I’m to have dealings with him. -Come on in and talk with him about the well.” - -They went toward the house. Through the window they could see the young -man across the room, measuring a space on the wall. He stood back and -looked at it thoughtfully—then he turned and saw them. “I was thinking -about the width here,” he said, “If your picture you’re going to put -here is five by nine—I’ll have to get the space on this side—somehow.” - -“We’re coming in,” said Bodet, “I wanted to talk to you—Marshall’s all -at sea with that well of his.” - -“I told him—” said Uncle William. His mouth closed on the word, and a -little smile crept up to it. “Why, Celia—I didn’t think you ’d be along -yet—not quite a while yet.” - -“It’s dinner time,” she said. She stood in the doorway, looking in. She -wore no hat, and her hair was blown in little curls by the wind. “You -going to have your dinner in here?” she asked. - -“Why, yes—I guess we might as well—have it here—right here on the -bench—can’t we, George?” - -“For anything I care,” said the young roan, “I’ve got to go—” He turned -toward the door. - -“Oh—George—” Uncle William stopped him. “I want you to see Celia. This -is our new girl—Celia.” - -The young man stood very straight and stiff, regarding her. “How do you -do,” he said. - -“Oh, I’m pretty well, thank you.” A little laugh nodded in the words and -whisked them away. “I’m very glad to see you,” she said. She looked down -at her hands. Then she held out one of them. - -The young man marched across and took it—he shook it a little and laid -it down. “It’s a nice day,” he said briefly. - -She smiled at him—straight and quick. Then she lifted the basket and -set it on the table. “I couldn’t ’a’ got it here, ever, if Jim Gunnion’s -team hadn’t come along,” she said. She opened the basket. “There’s -your pickles—and biscuit—and pie—and cheese—” She set the things on the -table, at one side—“and here’s your tablecloth.” She blew the bits of -shavings from the bench and spread a red cloth across its width. - -Uncle William’s eyes followed her, with a little twinkle—somewhere below -them. - -“It’s nice not to have to come home to dinner,” said Bodet impersonally. - -“Yes, sir—I couldn’t have you all down there to-day. I’m too busy.” -She stood back, looking at the table. “That’s all you need—Here’s the -salt—and the pepper—and the stew is nice and hot.” She took the lid from -the smoking pail and peered in. “I put coals under the pail,” she said. -“You want to look out and not set things afire.... I’m going now. You -can bring the dishes tonight when you come—” She stood in the door—and -was gone. - -Uncle William laughed out—and looked at Manning. The young man was -regarding him soberly. - -“Draw up, George,” said Uncle William, “It looks to me as if the’ was -enough for three—easy.” - -“I’ve got mine—outside,” said the young man. He lingered a little, -apparently examining the bricks in the fireplace. - -Uncle William looked at him and then drew up to the table. “Celia’s a -dretful good cook,” he said. He helped himself to the stew. - -The young man went slowly toward the door. “I guess I’ll go see -Marshall—about the well.” - -Uncle William looked over his shoulder. “Oh—and—George—?” - -“Yes, sir?” - -“If you happen to be goin’ by this evening, you know, along after dark, -you might stop in. I’ve got suthin’ to tell you—kind of an idee—’bout -the well.” - -“You might tell me now—before I see Marshall—?” suggested Manning. - -Uncle William shook his head. “I can’t tell ye—not yet. It’s suthin’ -about the old well—and pipes and things. I’m kind o’ thinkin’ it out—” - -“All right. I’ll be in—along after supper.” - -“Yes, that’s a good time. I’ll have it thought up—by that time, like -enough.” The young man went out and Uncle William continued to chew -slowly, his eyes on the red table cloth. Presently he looked up and his -eye met Bodet’s—He shook his head. - -“I do’ ’no’ what I’ll tell him about that well,” he said. - -“Tell him the idea you had just now—the one you spoke of. It will come -back to you by that time, maybe.” - -Uncle William shook his head again—slowly. “That idee can’t come back to -me, Benjy—I ain’t ever had it.” - -Bodet stared at him. “You told him—” - -“I know I told him, Benjy.” Uncle William was a little testy. “I do’ -’no’ what I lie so easy for.... Seems ’s if sometimes there was lies all -round in the air—just waiting to slip in.... I never had no idee ’bout -that well—I’ll have to have one.” - -Bodet’s eye rested on him reflectively. “You must have had some reason—” - -Uncle William looked up hastily, “I don’t believe I did, Benjy. I say -things like that sometimes—things that don’t mean a thing—things that -ain’t so. It makes me a lot of trouble.” - -He got up and went to the window. “There’s your Portland cement, out -there, and your windows. I thought the sky was gettin’ kind o’ smudgy.” - -Bodet followed him and they stood together, looking down at the big -harbor where the sails went to and fro and the little black steamer was -coming in. - - - - -XII - -THE little room was shining-clean. The window shone, the stove shone, -and the boards of the floor were sand-white. Uncle William, standing in -the door, looked at them cautiously. Then he looked down at his feet and -wiped them on a piece of sacking spread on the step. “Clean enough to -eat off of,” he said, stepping carefully on to the white floor. - -The girl at the sink nodded, the little curls bobbing about her face. -“I’ve been scrubbing,” she said. - -“I should say you had!”—He stepped forward gingerly. “You’ve done a lot -to it.”—He was looking about vaguely, as if to find a place to put his -feet down. - -The girl’s look relaxed subtly. “I thought you ’d like to have it -clean—I wanted to do it the way you like?” She was looking at him a -little wistfully—“You do like it, don’t you?” - -“It’s just right, Celia—I shouldn’t know anybody ’d lived in it—ever. -You ain’t seen Juno anywheres round, have you!” - -A subdued look flitted in the girl’s face. “She went off when I began to -beat the lounge. I saw her flying over the rocks—I had to beat it hard, -you know?” - -“‘Twas kind o’ dusty, wa ’n’t it?” said Uncle William, looking at -it affectionately. “I’ve been meaning to do it myself—but when I was -thinkin’ and settin’ on it, I couldn’t do it and when I wa ’n’t settin’ -on it, I wa ’n’t thinkin’ about it.” He moved toward the sink. - -“I’ve put your washing-duds outside,” said Celia, “your wash-basin and -towel and soap and things—out by the door, you know.” She motioned him -off. - -Uncle William stopped and looked at her. “That’s the way Harr’et has -’em,” he said. “How ’d you come to think of that, Celia?” - -The girl bubbled a little laugh. “I didn’t think very hard—Is Mr. Bodet -coming?” - -“He ’ll be right along,” said Uncle William. “He stopped to talk with -George Manning—about plans and so on. He ’ll be here pretty quick now.” -He went out of the door, and the room was very quiet. The girl stood -twisting a corner of her apron in her fingers and looking about the -shining room. There was a little dimple in her cheek that came and went. - -“What you thinking about, Celia?” asked Uncle William, coming in. His -face glowed from its washing and the tofts of hair stood up straight. - -The girl started a little. “I wasn’t thinking about anything—I guess.” -She looked at the stove—“They ’ll cook all to pieces if he doesn’t come -pretty quick,” she said. - -“He’s coming.” Uncle William went to the window. “He’s right up the road -a piece—You ain’t had time to get homesick, have you, Celia?” He was -standing with his back to her. - -“No, sir—Is that man coming, too?” - -“That man—?” Uncle William wheeled about.... “Oh, George? You mean -George Manning, I guess.” - -“That’s his name—the one that was up there this morning—fussing around.” -Uncle William nodded, his shrewd eyes on the little curls that were -bending over the sink. “That’s George Manning—He’s a nice boy,” he -added, seating himself on the lounge. “He’s a putty good boy—George is.” - -Her interest was absorbed in something in the kettle on the stove—that -steamed and swirled about her. She took a fork and tested it tenderly. -Then she glanced at the window. “He’s coming—Mr. Bodet—You go show him -where to wash—while I take up the dumplings—” She lifted the kettle, and -Uncle William went meekly to the door. “You wash up out here, Benjy,” -said Uncle William. He waved his hand at the toilet articles ranged on -the bench by the door—“It’s a nice place, you see—soap, and there’s your -towel.... She ’ll let us come in rainy days and cold days, maybe,” he -said thoughtfully. - -Bodet gave a dry chuckle. “Suits me,” he said. - -Uncle William’s face lightened. “I don’t mind a mite myself—” he -explained, “but I was kind o’ ’fraid you ’d want to be inside—where -folks can’t see you doing things so.” - -“Never!” said Bodet, “—with the sky for a ceiling and the clouds for -frescoes—what more could a man want?” He waved his towel briskly at the -landscape. - -Uncle William tiptoed back to the house. “He likes it—out there,” he -said. - -Her face twinkled and she set the dumplings on the table with a brisk -movement. “He’s a nice man,” she said. - -“You comin’, Benjy?” called Uncle William. - -While they ate, the handmaiden flitted in and out. She looked out for -their wants and washed pots and kettles on the bench by the door and -hummed bits of song—and once a little whistle was wafted in the door—but -it stopped suddenly, as if quick fingers had cut it off. - -Uncle William looked at Benjy and chuckled. “Some like having a canary -around, ain’t it? Kind o’ bubbles and goes along by itself!—She likes -doin’ ’em,” he added. “The’s a lot of comfort having folks around you -that like doin’ things.... Now, Harr’et—you ain’t ever seen the way -Harr’et does ’em, hev you?” - -Bodet shook his head. - -Uncle William smiled, looking at something in his mind. “Harr’et don’t -really like doin’ ’em,” he said confidingly, “I’ve seen her look at the -bottom of a pan as if she hated it, kind of.... She gets ’em clean, you -know, but she don’t really enjoy her cleanness—not really.... If you’re -down there a spell, watchin’ her and kind o’ settin’ round—you get to -feelin’ ’s if nobody ’d o’t to live—men-folks, special.... I do’ -’no’ what it is about her,” said Uncle William reflectively—“about -Harr’et.... She’s kind o’ straight in the back and her shoulders don’t -bend much.... Seems’s if the’ was suthin’ wrong about a woman—an old -woman like Harr’et—if her shoulders don’t give a little.” He sat looking -before him.... “The’s suthin’ about ’em, I do’ ’no’ what it is—about -women—when their shoulders get a little mite bent, that makes me feel -happy inside—Seems ’s if the Lord had made ’em that way a-purpose—kind -o’ gentle-like, you know—so ’s ’t they could bend easy—and stay kind o’ -curved over, and not mind. I’ve set and watched ’em in meetin’, a good -many times, when they didn’t know I was looking—and I’ve took a sight o’ -comfort with ’em.” - -Bodet looked at him critically. “I don’t see that you bend very much, -William.” Uncle William’s broad shoulders spread themselves and he drew -a deep breath. “That’s different, Benjy.... Men hadn’t o’t to bend—not -without they have rheumatism or cramps and things.” - -Celia whisked in at the door and out. Benjy’s eye followed her and -returned to William. - -“I know what you’re thinkin’, Benjy,” said Uncle William. “She’s -straight as one o’ them rushes, up ’t the pond—and she ought to -be.... She won’t bend for a spell yet—she’s got to know things -first—Hello!—There’s George!” - -They pushed back from the table and went outside. - - - - -XIII - -THE three men looked across the harbor—far in the distance something -troubled the surface of the water—as if a bit of the dusk had fallen on -it and traveled with little restless waves. - -Uncle William’s eye grew round.... “Mackerel!” he said solemnly. - -“Been schooling all day,” answered Manning. His teeth closed on the bit -of grass between them and held it hard. - -Uncle William looked at him sympathetically. “Any luck?” he asked. - -“Bergen seven barrel—and Thompson about three, I guess. He set for a big -school, but they got away—all but the tail end.... They’re running shy.” - -“They’ve been bothered down below,” said Uncle William. “That’s why -they’re here so early, like enough—It’s much as your life is worth—being -a mackerel these days—Steve get any?” - -Manning shook his head. “He started out—soon as Uncle Noah give -the word—Uncle Noah ’d been up on the cliffs since daylight, you -know—smelled ’em comin’, I guess.” Manning smiled. - -Uncle William nodded. “He’s part mackerel, anyway, Noah is—Went out, I -suppose?” - -“Everybody went—except me.” The young man’s eye was gloomy. “That’s a -big school.” His hand moved toward the harbor and the reddish bit of -dusk glinting on it. - -“Too late tonight,” said Uncle William. He felt in his pockets—“Now, -where ’d I put that paper—must ’a’ left it inside—You go look, George—a -kind o’ crumpled up paper—with figgers on it.” He felt again in his -pocket and the young man went obediently toward the door. - -Uncle William’s eye sought Benjy’s. “It ’ll take him quite a few minutes -to find it, I reckon,” he said placidly. - -“Isn’t it there?” - -“Well—it’s there if it’s anywheres, I guess—” His eye returned to the -water. “It’s a dretful pity George can’t go—He’s just aching to—You can -see that plain enough—” - -“He ’ll make more money,” said Bodet decisively, “—working on my house.” - -“Well—I do’ ’no’ ’bout that—He ’d make a good many hunderd out there—” -Uncle William motioned to the harbor, “a good many hunderd—if he had -luck—” - -“He ’ll make a good many hundred on the house. It’s steady work—and sure -pay,” said Bodet. - -Uncle William smiled. “I reckon that’s what’s the matter with it—The ’s -suthin’ dretful unsatisfyin’ about sure pay.” Bodet smiled skeptically. - -“You don’t understand about mackerel, Benjy, I guess—the mackerel -feelin’.” Uncle William’s eye rested affectionately on the water.... -“The’s suthin’ about it—out there—” He waved his hand—“Suthin’ ’t keeps -sayin’, ’Come and find me—Come and find me—’ kind o’ low like. Why, -some days I go out and sail around—just sail around. Don’t ketch -anything—don’t try to, you know—just sail right out.... You ain’t ever -felt it, I guess?” - -Benjy shook his head. - -“I kind o’ knew you hadn’t.... You’ve al’ays had things—had ’em done for -ye—on dry land—It’s all right... and you’ve got things—” Uncle William -looked at him admiringly, “Things ’t George and me won’t ever get, like -enough.” He smiled on him affectionately, “But we wouldn’t swap with ye, -Benjy.” - -“Wouldn’t swap what?” asked Bodet. His little laugh teased the -words—“You haven’t got anything—as far as I see—to swap—just a sense -that there’s something you won’t ever get.” - -Uncle William nodded. “That’s it, Benjy! You see it—don’t you?—Suthin’ -’t I can’t get—can’t ever get,” he looked far out over the water... “and -some day I’ll sail out there and ketch—twenty barrel, like enough—and -bring ’em in, and it’s all hurrah-boys down ’t the dock—and sayin’ ’How -many ’d you get?’ and ’How ’d you do it?’ and runnin’ and fussin’—and -then, come along toward night, and it ’ll get kind o’ big and dark out -there... and I’ll forget all about the twenty barrel and about gettin’ -money for ’em sensible—I’ll just want to heave ’em out and go again.” -Uncle William paused—drawing a big sigh from some deep place.... “That’s -the way George feels, I reckon.... If he stays and works on your house, -Benjy—’twon’t be because he wants money.” - -The young man appeared in the door—“I can’t find any paper in here,” he -said. There was a little note of defiance in the words and the color in -his face was dear scarlet. - -Uncle William looked at him quizzically. “Maybe you didn’t look in the -right place, Georgie,” he said. “We’re coming right in, anyway.” - -In the clear, soft dusk of the room Celia’s face had a dancing look. -She stood by the sink, her dish towel caught across her arm and her chin -lifted a little as if she were listening to something pleasant—that no -one had said. She turned away—hanging up the towel and brushing off the -top of the stove with emphatic little movements and a far-away face. - -“Now, maybe I left that figgering up to Benjy’s.” Uncle William glanced -casually about him. “You sit down, George, and I’ll look around a little -for it.” He fumbled with some papers by the window and went into the -bedroom and came out, humming gently to himself. He glanced at the two -men who sat on the red lounge—The younger one had drawn some lines on a -scrap of paper and was leaning forward talking earnestly—his hat on the -floor beside him and his hair pushed carelessly back. He had forgotten -the room—and Uncle William—and all the little movements that danced. -His fingers moved with the terse, short words, drawing new lines on the -paper and crossing them out and drawing new ones. - -Uncle William’s placid face held no comment. “‘D you see a piece of -paper, Celia!” he asked, “—a kind of crumpled-up piece!” - -She shook her head. Her eyes were on the two figures on the lounge and -on Juno, who rose and stretched herself, drawing her feet together and -yawning high and opening her pink-curved tongue. “I left some scraps for -her—on the plate by the sink,” said Celia in a low voice. She untied -her apron and hung it by the door. Then she put on her hat and a light -jacket and stood looking about her—as if there might be something in the -red room—something that would keep her a minute longer. - -“Set down, Celia,” suggested Uncle William. - -“I’ve got to go,” she said. She moved a little, toward the door. - -Uncle William bustled about and knocked down the tongs and three or four -sticks of wood, and picked them up. He grumbled a little. Bodet looked -up, with a smile. “What’s the matter, William!” - -Manning got to his feet, crowding the scrap of paper into his pocket, -“I’ll have to go,” he said. “It’s getting late.” - -“Why, yes—’tis kind o’ late—” assented Uncle William: “Gets late dretful -early, these days.... If you’re going right along, George, you might’s -well walk along with Celia—so ’s ’t the’ won’t anything happen to her—” - -“I don’t need anyone,” said the girl quickly, “I’ve got my lantern.” She -held it out. - -The young man searched for his hat. - -“I don’t need any company,” repeated the girl. She passed quickly from -the open door and vanished. - -George stood up, gazing after her light flickering on the path. He had -found his hat and was twirling it in stiff slow fingers. - -“Run along, George,” said Uncle William kindly. “You can ketch her, -easy.” - -“I don’t run after any girl,” said George. There was a deep glint in his -eye. - -Uncle William looked at it and then at the lantern, flicking and dancing -on the path. He stepped to the door. “O-ho! Celia!” he called sternly. - -The light wavered a little and paused and danced.... Then it went on. - -Uncle William stepped out into the night. “Cel-i-a!” he called and his -big voice boomed over the rocks. The lantern stopped. It came back—with -little wavering steps and halted before him. - -“What ’d you go running off like that for?” - -Her face, above the lantern, was demure. “I didn’t run,” she said. - -“Well, you might jest as well ’a’ run—I wanted you to take suthin’ for -me.” Uncle William was feeling about in the darkness by the door. - -“Oh—I didn’t know—” Her voice was very contrite now, and meek. - -“I didn’t suppose you knew—but you could ’a’ waited.... Here they be!” -He dragged forward a heavy sack of potatoes and untied the neck—“I told -Harr’et I’d send her down a mess of new potatoes for breakfast,” he -said. He dipped into the sack with generous hand—filling a basket that -stood by the door. - -The girl looked at it with round eyes. - -“You ’d just as lives carry it along, wouldn’t you, Celia?” - -She reached out her hand and lifted it a little. Then she looked at him. - -“Like enough you need a little help with it,” said Uncle William -wickedly. “Oh—George—” he stepped to the door. “You just give Celia a -lift with this basket, won’t you!—It’s a little mite heavy for her.” - -The young man appeared in the door. He lifted the basket with decisive -hand and held out the other—“I’ll take that lantern,” he said. - -She hesitated an instant—holding it a little behind her. Then she gave -it up. “I can carry lanterns well enough.” - -“I’ll take it,” replied George. He strode away over the rocks and she -followed with little tripping steps that half ran to keep up. - -Uncle William, standing by the open door, followed the flicker of the -lantern with benignant eye—Then he went into the house. “Sent Harr’et -quite a mess of potatoes,” he said comfortably. - -Benjy looked at him. “—Not the new ones,” he said quickly. - -Uncle William nodded. “I kind o’ felt as if suthin’ had to be sent to -Harr’et, and that bag of potatoes was the fust thing I laid hold of.” -He chuckled a little. “She ’ll be some s’prised, I guess—s’prised and -pleased—Harr’et will—to get a new mess of potatoes and all—and not -having to pay for ’em, or anything,” said Uncle William thoughtfully. - - - - -XIV - -HERE you be, Juno!” Uncle William set the plate of scraps on the floor, -and Juno walked across with leisurely gait. - -He watched her a moment, smiling—then he reached for his lantern. “Guess -I’d better go see ’t everything’s all right,” he said. “I’ve got to make -a putty early start.” - -Bodet looked at him inquiringly. “Where are you going?” - -“Now?—Down to see t’ the Jennie.” - -“You’re not going out?” - -Uncle William laughed. “Not tonight, Benjy—I jest want to get a start, -you know—have things ready.” He lighted the lantern and threw the match -on the floor. - -Benjy watched him soberly. “You ’ll be gone a week, I suppose.” - -“Well, I do’ ’no’.” Uncle William put his lantern on the floor and sat -down. “I come in every day—Soon’s I get a catch.” - -Bodet scowled at his cigarette—and threw it aside. “It’s the last I’ll -see of you—this season.” - -Uncle William crossed his legs. “Won’t run more ’n a day or two, mebbe,” -he said consolingly. “You can’t tell about mackerel. You look out and -see little patches of ’em wrinkling around and the next day you won’t -see a wrinkle.” His hand felt for its lantern. - -Bodet’s eye was on the clock. Suddenly he got up and crossed over to -it and took down something, almost tucked in around behind the dock. -He glared at it a minute and threw it on the table. “It’s a letter!” he -said. - -“Why, so ’tis!” Uncle William leaned forward with a pleased look of -interest. “Celia didn’t tell us about it, did she?” He looked at Benjy -for sympathy. But there was no sympathy in Benjy’s eye.-He lifted the -letter and tore it open—“It might have lain there a week,” he said -sternly. - -“Like enough ’t would—if you hadn’t seen it. You’ve got terrible good -eyes, Benjy.” Uncle William all but patted him on the back. - -Benjy shrugged his shoulders. His eyes ran over the letter—“It’s from -the children. You want to read it—now?” He was holding it out. - -Uncle William looked down at his lantern. He took it up.... Then he -looked at the letter. “I kind o’ hate to have you read it first—without -me.” - -“I’ll wait,” said Bodet obligingly. - -Uncle William shook his head. “I do’ ’no ’s we ’d better wait.” He blew -gently into his lantern and set it down. “Might as well have it whilst -we can....I’ve come to think that’s the best way, mebbe. The’s two-three -things I didn’t take when I could ’a’ got ’em—easy. They’ve been always -tagging me around since.” He settled a little more comfortably in his -chair and stretched his big legs. “Go ahead, Benjy,” he said. - -Bodet fixed his glasses on his nose and cleared his throat. Juno jumped -on Uncle William’s knee, and his hand traveled thoughtfully up and down -the grey back while the letter was being read. - -A pleased, puzzled look held his face—“Goin’ right to Russia, be they? I -can’t seem to understand that, Benjy—What was it she said?” - -Bodet turned back and found the place. - -“We have decided to go straight to St. Petersburg and then to Vilna, -taking a house and spending the winter. Captain Spaulding will take -the boat around to Yokohama and we shall join him in the spring—going -overland.” - -Uncle William’s face still held its puzzled look—“They won’t touch -Iceland... nor Norway ’n’ Sweden?” He shook his head. “Jumped the whole -thing—far as I see—Europe, Asia ’n’ Africa, and the Pacific Isles.... -Now, what do you suppose they’re up to, doin’ that, Benjy?” He looked at -him anxiously. - -Bodet folded the letter in his slim fingers and creased it a little. -“Perhaps she was homesick—thought how good it would seem to have a home -for a little while again.” - -“Mebbe she did...” Uncle William lighted the lantern, peering at it with -shrewd, wrinkled eyes. “Don’t you set up for me, Benjy.” He looked at -him kindly. “The ’ll be a moon, byme-by, you know—Like as not I’ll be -putterin’ round quite a spell. You go to bed.” - -“Well—I’ll see.” Bodet had taken up the newspaper and was scanning the -lines—his glasses perched high. Juno, on the floor beside him, looked up -as if she would like to be invited. - -Uncle William looked at them both affectionately. Then he stepped out -into the night, closing the door with gentle touch. - -The night was softly dark, with high stars, and a little breeze blew -up from the water.... His lantern swung down the path—his great legs -keeping shadowy time to it. Now and then he paused, listening to the -little waves that splashed up below, and drawing deep, full breaths of -the darkness. He looked up to the stars and his face cleared. The -little puzzled look that had come into it with the reading of the letter -disappeared. He hummed to himself, as he went, little booming songs that -began, and broke off, and ended nowhere—traveling along ahead.... - -On the beach he disappeared into the little black fish-house and came -out bearing a great net that he stowed away in the dory, folding it down -in under with watchful eye. He swung his lantern over the mound of -net and gave a little running push and leaped in.... The oars in the -thole-pins creaked and chugged, as he faded out in the night, and little -phosphorescent gleams waked up along the water and ran in flocks behind -him. - -He rowed steadily out, his eyes on the stars. The night held a -stillness—somewhere, through it, a voice might come. He held the boat, -dipping the oars lightly and bending his head. He often waited—in the -darkness or off on the moor.... Little sounds came—vague stirrings of -quiet—and off a little way, the lights on the fishing boats bobbed at -anchor. He dipped his oars and rowed again—long, restful pulls that drew -on the strength of the night.... Alongside, in a minute, the stem of the -Jennie loomed mistily and Uncle William scrambled aboard, fastening the -dory and hanging his lantern to the mast—It threw its swaying light on -the big figure as it moved about the boat. Over the eastern rim of hill -the sky grew mysteriously thin and glowed—and a flood of light dropped -on the harbor. The water darkened and the distant boats grew to shapes -as the moon rose high, filling herself with light. Uncle William looked -up. He put down the coil of rope he was stowing away and leaned back, -looking at the clear, yellow ball riding over the hill. His eye traveled -to the water and to the dim boats shaping themselves out of the dusk.... -A contented smile held the big face.... He had been thinking of Sergia -and Alan and his thoughts traveled again—following the track of the -moon, out over the water, across the ocean—stretching to Russia and -the far east.... Slowly the look grew in his face—a little wonder and a -laugh. Then he sat up, looking about him. The filtering moonshine played -on his face and he laughed—with low, quiet chuckles—and fell to work, -giving the last touches to the boat—making things fast. He rowed back -in slow silence. Along the beach, as he came near, little black shapes -stood up and greeted him—lobster traps and barrels piled high, ends of -dories, and boxes washed by the tide, and fantastic sprawls of net and -seaweed. Uncle William stepped among them, with long, high step, and -the smile still played on his face. Up on the cliff he could see the red -glow of the window. Benjy might be up—might be awake.... Uncle William -quickened his steps— - -The man looked up with a satisfied, drowsy smile. The paper had dropped -from his hand and his head was bent a little toward it. Uncle William -nodded to him and hung up the lantern. “I’ve thought of something.” - -“Have you?” Bodet sat up, yawning a light breath and feeling for his -glasses. He put them on his nose and looked at William. “You were gone -long enough to think,” he said. - -“Yes—I was gone—quite a spell. I got to looking round,” said Uncle -William. “Time gets away putty fast when you’re looking round and kind -o’ thinkin’.” He chuckled again, with the big, kind smile that flooded -his face. “What do you reckon made them want to go straight to Russia, -Benjy?” He was looking at him shrewdly. - -Bodet shook his head. “I told you I didn’t know—just a whim, perhaps—” - -“Something nicer ’n a whim.... You ’d kind o’ like to think of -it yourself—It makes things big somehow—big and kind o’ goin’ on -forever-like—” His face was full of the glow now and the eyes behind -the spectacles had a misty look—like the blue of the sea when the fog is -traveling in. - -Bodet got up and came across to him. “What is it, William!” he said -gently. - -“Just more folks on-the Island—” said Uncle William. “Little ones, you -know—travelin’ round...; The’s suthin’ about it—I do’ ’no’ what ’t is, -Benjy—but it makes you all kind o’ happy inside—thinking there’s goin’ -to be more folks always, when you’re gone—living along in the same -places and doin’ things.... I can kind o’ see ’em,” said Uncle William -slowly, “—everywheres I go—there they be—plain as if I touched ’em. some -of ’em—getting up in the morning and havin’ breakfast and goin’ out and -looking at the sun and the rocks and the water and being happy—same -as me—unhappy, too, some of the time—thinkin’ things ought to be -different.... It makes it all seem big, don’t it, Benjy?” He reached out -a hand. - -The tall man took it. “So you think—?” - -Uncle William nodded. “They ’ll be comin’ back some day—sailing into the -harbor—Sergia and Alan—and there ’ll be a little one traveling with ’em. -It’s al’ays the little ones,—Benjy—I do’ ’no’ what the Lord made ’em -that way for... they’re so kind o’ queer and little... but I don’t ever -see one of ’em runnin’ down the beach—arms goin’ that kind o’ way they -have, and hair flyin’—I don’t ever see ’em without feelin’ real good -somewheres inside. Everything breaks out all new—lights up, you know—’s -if the fog had blown off suddenlike and you looked way out where the sun -is.” Uncle William’s face held the glory of it all, but his voice had -dropped a little.... He got up and went to the door and stepped into -the night. Presently he reappeared and crossed over to the wood-box and -looked in. “Guess I’ll bring in an armful of wood,” he said. “It might -rain before morning.” - -Benjy’s smile was very gentle as it followed him. “It can’t rain—a night -like this, William.” - -Uncle William returned to the door and Bodet followed him.... The moor -was flooded with light—a magic world, hushed and waiting under its -veil.... Uncle William’s eyes dwelt on it fondly. “I reckon I’ll bring -in the wood,” he said. “Mebbe it won’t rain. But I kind o’ like to -bring in wood when I’ve been thinkin’.” The great figure passed into the -transparent night. - - - - -XV - -C ELIA looked up from her work. “Did you have good luck?” - -“Putty good,” said Uncle William, “Six-seven barrel, I should think.” -He stood in the doorway and cast an eye back at the beach. “I picked out -some good ones for dinner,” he said regretfully, “I must ’a’ left ’em -down there in the fish-house, or somewheres.” - -Celia’s look was mild. “I’ll go down for them myself pretty quick. I’m -about through, anyway.” She swirled a little clean water into the sink -and took down a pan from its nail. “I sha ’n’t be gone long,” she said -kindly as she passed him in the doorway. - -“No, the’ ain’t anybody interesting down there,” assented Uncle William. - -The look in her face dimpled a little, but she made no reply. - -Uncle William looked after her as she flitted down the path, the wind -blowing the little curls about her face, and the pan on her arm glinting -in the sun. He turned and went into the house, a contented look in his -face. “Seems’s if we had most everything,” he said comfortably. Juno -came across and rubbed against him and he stooped to pet her. Then he -went into the bedroom and came out with a plan of the new house. He -spread it on the table and sat down, studying it with pleased, shrewd -smile. The clock ticked and Juno purred into the stillness and a little -breeze came in the window, clean and fresh. By and by Uncle William -pushed up his spectacles and looked at the clock. His mouth remained -open a little and he went to the door, looking down the path. “Seems’s -if she o’t to be back by now—” He stared a little and reached for his -glasses and adjusted them, and took a long look. - -A man was coming up the rocky path from the beach. He was a large man, -with a full paunch and light, soft steps. “He comes up there putty -good,” said Uncle William, watching him thoughtfully. “You can’t hurry -on them rocks.” The man had come to the top and paused to take breath, -looking back. “Holds himself kind o’ keerful on his toes,” said Uncle -William, “some ’s if he was afraid he ’d tip over and spill suthin’.... -I do ’no’ who he is.” - -The man turned and came toward the house. He had taken off his hat, and -his bald head shone in the sun. - -Uncle William stood in the doorway, looking him over with keen, -benignant eye. - -“Good morning,” said the man, “Mr. Benslow, I believe?” He held out a -round hand. “My name is Carter—Milton Carter from Ipswich.” - -Uncle William took the hand, and looked down at the stout man. “I don’t -seem to remember your being here before?” he said. - -“No—It’s my first visit to this region. I’m only here for a day or two.” -He turned, on the doorstep, and looked over the moor and rocks. “You -have a pleasant place here.” He had a smooth, flatted-out voice that -gave the words no color. - -Uncle William nodded. “It’s a putty good place—Will you walk in, sir?” - -The man stepped over the sill. “I didn’t expect to go quite so far when -I started. It’s quite a walk—” He wiped his forehead. - -“You come from Andy’s?” asked Uncle William. - -“From Halloran’s—yes, Andrew Halloran’s—You know him?” - -“I know Andy,” said Uncle William. “Set down, sir.” - -They sat down and looked at each other. “I was going through—” said -the man, “up the Lakes and I thought I’d stop off and look around—It’s -pleasant country about here.” - -“Yes, it’s pleasant,” said Uncle William. - -“Not much business doing, I suppose,” said the man. - -“Fishing,” said Uncle William, “—mostly.” - -“There’s some kind of building going on, I see—further up.” He moved the -round hand. - -“That’s my friend—Benjamin Bodet,” said Uncle William. His head gave -a little lift. “He’s going to have nineteen rooms—not countin’ the -gal’ry.” He laid his hand affectionately on the blueprint spread on the -table beside him. - -The man’s eyes narrowed. “I see—Seems to be quite a house,” he said -affably, “I was talking with the contractor this morning—a man by the -name of Manning—a very intelligent man,” he added kindly. - -“His name’s Manning,” assented Uncle William. - -The man’s eye strayed to the window. “Your friend must have considerable -land with his place—I should think?” He spoke casually. - -Uncle William sat up a little. “He’s got enough to set his house on,” he -said dryly. - -The man’s eyes held no rebuff. They dwelt on Uncle William kindly. “I -am interested in the region—” he admitted, “I might buy a little—a small -piece—if I found something I liked.” - -Uncle William looked him over. “I don’t believe you will,” he said, -“—not anything to suit you.... I’ve bought most of it myself,” he added. - -The stranger looked at him—and then out of the window. “You don’t own -all of it—?” He gave a little wave of the round hand at the moor and sky -and rocks. - -Uncle William nodded, with a pleased smile. “I bought it all—fo’-five -years ago,” he said. - -The man’s mouth was very mild. “You bought it for investment, I suppose? -You put money into it—” - -“Well,” said Uncle William, “suthin’ like that, perhaps. I put in all I -could scrape up. Some I had—and some I just wished I’d had.” - -“I see—? What would you take for it?—How much did you say you owned?” He -bent toward the window. - -“‘Bout a mile,” said Uncle William. - -The head withdrew itself. “A mile—! You hoped it would rise, I suppose?” - -“Well—I was more afraid someone ’d be coming along and setting on it,” -said Uncle William. - -“You could sell the whole?” - -Uncle William shook his head. - -“I shouldn’t care—so much—for a part of it,” said the man thoughtfully, -“But I might make you an offer—” - -“I wouldn’t advise you to,” said Uncle William, “I might just as well -tell ye, Mr. Carter—there ain’t money enough in this country—nor any -other—to buy that land!” Uncle William sat up. - -The other man shook his head. “Land values are skittish things,” he -said. “It’s good judgment to look ahead a little.” - -“That’s where I’m lookin’,” said Uncle William. - -“This Bodet—” said the other smoothly, “whom did he buy of?” - -Uncle William smiled. “I give him his piece—He’s a friend of mine.” - -“I see.” The man got to his feet, adjusting his weight nicely. - -“Well, think it over, Mr. Benslow. I may stop over on my way back from -the Lakes and—” His hand advanced a little. - -Uncle William’s gaze did not take it in. He was moving toward the -door—and the man moved with him—his light, smooth steps hearing him -along. “Good day, sir,” said Uncle William. - -“Good morning, Mr. Benslow. I may stop over—on my way back.” He moved -easily off up the road and Uncle William stood watching him. - -“There’s Benjy now,” said Uncle William. - -The two men stopped in the road and talked a few minutes. The fat man -moved his hand and Bodet nodded once or twice. - -Uncle William watched them a little anxiously. Then he went in and -gathered up the plan. When he came ont Benjamin was approaching with -quick, long strides. - -“I’m coming right along, Benjy,” said Uncle William, “I was most ready—a -man come along and hindered me a little—” - -“Who is he?” said Bodet. - -“His name is Carter—I reckon he’s real-estate,” said Uncle William. - -“I ’reckon’ he is—Maiming told me and I came right down. What did he -offer you?” - -“Well, he didn’t exactly offer—I kind o’ held him off. But I guess he ’d -’a’ gone high—” Uncle William’s mouth closed in a happy smile. “‘Tis a -nice island. I don’t wonder ’t folks want to come to it—But they can’t,” -he added gently, “The’ ain’t room. - -“I ’most hope he won’t see Andy,” he added after a minute, “Andy’s got a -little piece—down to the east there—kind of out of sight, you know, that -I didn’t buy.” - -“I bought that piece last week,” said Bodet. - -“You did!—How ’d you come to get it, Benjy?” - -“The same way you got yours, I guess. I offered him a little more than -he would stand.” - -Uncle William smiled.... “And I suppose likely this man ’ll go higher ’n -you did?” - -“I suppose he will.” - -Uncle William chuckled. “Poor Andy!” - -“He’s ready to buy anything in sight you know,” said Bodet restlessly. - -“The’ ain’t very much in sight, is there?” said Uncle William, “—except -what I own.” He cast a proud eye over his acres. - -“I’ve been thinking, William—” - -Bodet looked at him keenly, “why don’t you turn it over to me—the -whole of it? I told you I’d give you twenty thousand,—I’ll give you -thirty—more if you say so—and you can live on it just the same?” - -Uncle William shook his head. “I couldn’t do it, Benjy. I reckon the -Lord cal’lated I’d buy up a mile—so’s to keep it from being cut up in -little fiddling bits—and I guess I’ve got to hold on to it. I’d like -to have thirty thousand,” he said reflectively, “The’s two-three little -things I could do with thirty thousand—!” - -Bodet smiled. “You ought to have it—whether you deed me the land or -not—I have just as much good of it as you do.” - -“Yes, you enjoy it—some,” admitted William. - -“Well—I’m going to hand over the interest to you—pay your living—if -you ’ll let me?” He looked at Uncle William curiously. There were new -regions in Uncle William, perhaps—at least the thirty-thousand-dollar -region was unexplored as yet. - -Uncle William surveyed the offer with impartial eye. “You can pay my -livin’ if you want to, Benjy—I’ve gen ’lly paid it myself, but I’d just -as lives you did, if you want to—or I’d pay yours.” - - - - -XVI - -ANDY was subdued after the real-estate man’s visit. “You and Benjy might -sell me back some,” he suggested. He was sitting in Uncle William’s -door, looking out over the moor. Uncle William was busy inside. - -He came and stood in the doorway, his spectacles on his forehead, and -looked at the landscape. “What ’d you do with it, Andy—if we give it -back to you?” he asked. - -“I’d sell it to that Carter man—quick as scat—’fore he changed his -mind.” - -Uncle William looked down at him. Then he looked at the moor. - -“It’s val’able property,” said Andy. - -“I do’ ’no’ as I know what val’able property is.” Uncle William’s eyes -rested fondly on the moor, with its rocks and tufted growth and the -clear, free line of sky. - -“Val’able property?” said Andy. He gazed about him a little. “Val’able -property’s suthin’ you’ve got that somebody else wants and ’ll pay money -for—right off—That’s what I call val’able property.” - -The clouds were riding up the horizon—the breeze from the moor blew in -and the cloud shadows sailed across. Uncle William lifted his face a -little. “Seems to me anything’s val’able ’t you kind o’ love and take -comfort with,” he said slowly. - -Andy grunted. “Guess I’ll go ’long up the road,” he said. - -“Up to Benjy’s?” Uncle William looked at him wistfully. “I told Benjy I -was coming up,” he said, “But it’s kind o’ late—” He looked at the sun, -“and it’s warm, too.” - -Andy made no reply. - -“I reckon I’ll go ’long with you,” said Uncle William—“You wait a minute -whilst I get my plans.” - -They went up the road together in the clear light, the sun shining -hot on their backs. The little breeze had died out and the clouds were -drifting toward the horizon. Uncle William glanced wistfully at a big -rock by the roadside. “We might set down a spell,” he suggested. He -moved toward the rock. “I’ve been stirring since daylight,” he said, “It -don’t seem quite right to keep goin’ every minute so. Benjy’s a pretty -active man—for his years,” he added. He seated himself on the rock and -stretched his great legs in the sun—He drew a long breath. “I do take a -sight o’ comfort—not doin’ things,” he said. “Set down, Andy.” He patted -the rock beside him. - -Andy glanced at the sun. “We ’ll be late,” he said. - -“Yes, we ’ll be late, like enough. Smells good up here, don’t it!” Uncle -William snuffed the salt air with relish. “I al’ays like to stop along -here somewheres. It makes a putty good half-way place.” - -Andy sat down. “Benjy’s wastin’ time on that house of his,” he said -glumly. - -“Yes, he’s wastin’ time.” Uncle William looked about him placidly. -“Benjy don’t mind time—nor wastin’ it. What he wants is a house that he -wants. I do’ ’no’s I blame him for that—I like a house that suits me, -too.” His eye traveled back to the little house perched comfortably on -its rocks. - -Andy’s face held no comment. - -Uncle William sighed a little. “You can’t help wantin’ things the way -you want ’em,” he said. “And Benjy ain’t ever been married—no more ’n -me. Now, you’ve been married—” - -“Yes, I’ve been married—a good many year,” said Andy sombrely. - -“That’s it! An’ you know what ’tis to want things—’t you can’t have! -But Benjy ’n’ me—” Uncle William looked around him—at the great rocks -on either side and the big, cloudless sky and the road running to the -horizon and dipping beyond—“Me and Benjy—we’ve missed it—somehow.” - -Andy cast a scornful eye at him. But his face, set toward the horizon -line, was non-committal. - -“I can see it in Benjy plainer ’n I can in me,” went on Uncle William, -“how it acts—wanting things jest so—and kind o’ dancing all round if you -can’t have ’em.... I reckon that’s what marryin ’s for—to kind o’ steady -ye like—ballast, you know. You can’t ride quite so high, maybe, but you -can steer better...” - -“Somebody’.l steer,” said Andy. - -Uncle William cast the flick of a smile at him. “Well, you wouldn’t want -two captains, Andy—not on the same boat, would ye? That’s what makes all -the trouble, I reckon—” he went on thoughtfully, “wantin’ to go two ways -to once. Seems ’f folks didn’t know what they got married for—some of -’em.” - -“Well, I do ’no’,” said Andy without enthusiasm. - -Uncle William looked at him with a quiet smile. “You wouldn’t want to -get a divorce, would you, Andy?” - -“Lord, no!” said Andy. - -Uncle William’s smile grew deeper. “I reckoned you ’d feel that -way—Seems ’f the rivets all kind o’ loosen up—when folks talk about -separatin’ and divorce and so on—things get kind o’ shackly-like and -wobble some.” - -Andy grinned. “They don’t wobble down to our house. I’d like to see -Harriet wobblin’ a minute—for once.” - -“No, Harr’et’s firm,” said Uncle William. “An’ I guess you really like -it better that way.” He spoke encouragingly. - -“You have to settle down to it when you’re married,” went on Uncle -William, “settle down comfortable-like—find the easy spots and kind -o’ make for ’em. It’s like the weather, I reckon—you expect some -weather—rain and thunder and so on.” Uncle William’s gaze rested -contentedly on the cloudless, far-reaching sky.... “We ’d grumble -a little, I guess—any way you ’d fix it.... But we wouldn’t want -biling-hot sunshine all the time. Why, climates where they have that -kind o’ weather—” Uncle William sat up, looking about him, “It’s -terrible tryin’—dust and fleas and scorpions—and it’s dreadful dull -living, too.... I like a good deal of weather myself. It keeps things -movin’—suthin’ to pay attention to.” - -“What’s that you’ve got in your pocket?” demanded Andy, peering towards -something blue that stuck up over the edge of William’s pocket. - -Uncle William’s hand reached down to it—“That’s the plans,” he said, -“for Benjy’s house. It’s the plans—as far as he’s got,” he added -conscientiously. - -Andy’s eye turned away—grudging. - -Uncle William drew out the blue paper and looked at it fondly. “I’m -helping Benjy decide what he wants—from time to time.” He spread out the -paper on his knee. - -Andy turned his back and looked out to sea—sideways. - -“Want to see ’em, Andy?” asked Uncle William. - -“I don’t care.” - -“It’s a good place to see ’em.” Uncle William glanced at the flat rock. -He laid down the blue paper and smoothed the curly edges with big, -careful fingers. - -“You get two-three stones, Andy—to anchor ’em down—” - -Andy got up with an indifferent air and wandered off, gathering in a -handful of small rocks. - -“That’s good—put one of ’em here—and one here—and here. That’s good!” -Uncle William leaned back and looked at it with simple delight. - -Andy’s air was detached. - -Uncle William glanced at him. His gaze softened. “This is Benjy’s room,” -he said. His finger followed a white dotted line on the paper. - -Andy bent a little. - -“An’ here the lib’ry—and the gallery—” - -“The what?” Andy ducked a little toward the plan. - -“That’s the gallery—didn’t I tell ye, Andy?” - -“No.” Andy’s mouth was open at it. - -“It’s for picters, you know, and marble things—kind o’ standing round.” - -“Huh!” The mouth closed. - -“It ’ll be quite nice, I reckon—when it’s done. I can see he sets store -by it—” Uncle William’s finger hovered dubiously about the spot. “An’ -this part here—all this wing—is for Sergia and him—Alan—” - -“They ain’t here,” said Andy. - -“But they’re going to be here sometime,” said Uncle William cheerfully. -“It ’ll be quite a fam’ly then.” He gazed at the blue paper fondly. “I -do like a fam’ly—seems kind o’ foolish to build a house and not have a -fam’ly.” - -Andy said nothing. His eye was studying a corner of the plan. “What’s -that?” he demanded. - -Uncle William bent to it. He lifted his face, beaming. “‘W’s -room’—That’s my room,” he said. - -Andy glared at it. “You going to live there—with him!” - -“Why, no, Andy—not just live there—It’s a kind o’ place for me to stay -nights, you know—if I get caught up there—stormy weather?” Uncle William -looked at him a little anxiously. - -Andy got up. “I’ve got to go ’long,” he said. - -Uncle William’s face held him sympathetically. “I was goin’ to show you -the rest of the plans,” he said. - -“I don’t care about ’em,” said Andy. He moved away. - -Uncle William’s big fingers found a stub of pencil in his pocket and -brought it out. “I was thinking, Andy—” he said slowly. - -Andy turned back—a little. - -“I was wondering if you ’d mind havin’ the same room as me—up to -Benjy’s?” - -“I don’t want no room,” said Andy. - -“I couldn’t stay away nights.” He looked at the paper with gloomy eye. - -Uncle William wet the pencil with careful tongue and bent over the -paper. His fingers traced a large, scrawling A. “There!” He leaned back, -looking at it with satisfied gaze. “‘A and W’s room’—looks good, don’t -it!” His face beamed on Andy. - -The gloom relaxed a little. “It don’t mean nothing,” said Andy. - -“Well, I do’ ’no’,” said Uncle William. “It sounds nice, and when -things sound nice, seems ’s if they must mean suthin’—down underneath -somewheres.” - -“Huh!” said Andy. - - - - -XVII - -THE real-estate man and Andy were out behind the barn. There was a -glimpse of the harbor in the distance, and behind them the moor rose to -the horizon. - -The real-estate man’s little eyes scanned it. “You haven’t much land,” -he said casually. - -“I own to the top—pretty near an acre,” said Andy. “And there’s the -house and barn—and the chicken-coop.” He cast an eye toward it. - -A white fowl emerged and scurried across in front of them. - -The man’s small eyes followed her, without interest. “I found a number -of houses down in the village,” he said smoothly, in his flat voice, -“and plenty of land—Almost any of them will sell, I fancy.” - -“Yes, they ’ll sell.” Andy’s eye was gloomy. “‘Most anybody around here -’ll sell—except William,” he added thoughtfully. - -The narrow eye turned on him. “How much did you say you sold to him?” - -“‘Bout four hundred acre, I reckon,” said Andy. - -“Five hundred dollars is what he paid you, I believe?” The man’s voice -was smooth, and patient. - -Andy wriggled a little. “‘Twa ’n’t enough,” he said feebly. - -“Well—I don’t know—” The man glanced about him, “I was looking at a -house down in the village this morning—eight rooms—good roof—ten acres -of land, and barn. I can have the whole thing for six hundred.” - -“That’s Gruchy’s,” said Andy quickly, “He wants to move off the Island.” - -“He said he wanted to move—that’s the name—Gruchy—I’d forgotten.” The -small eyes looked off at the distant glint of water. “In some ways I -like that place better than this,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s on the -shore—” - -“I’ve got a right of way,” said Andy. - -“To the shore!” The man’s eyes looked at him an instant, and a little -light flicked in them, and was gone. - -“It’s down here,” said Andy. He moved over to the right. “Here’s my -entrance—and it runs from here straight across to the shore. We never -measured it off—I al’ays cut across anywheres I want to. But it’s in the -deed—and anybody ’t buys the land ’ll have it.” He looked at the other -shrewdly. - -“I see—” The real estate man’s gaze followed the right of way across -Uncle William’s moor. “I see—Well, of course, that makes a difference—a -little difference. It would be foolish to buy on an island and not -have access to the shore—I presume you could buy the Gruchy place,” he -suggested. - -“That’s what I was thinking of,” said Andy, “—unless William wanted to -give me a little piece.” His gloomy eyes rested, almost fondly, on the -big moor that stretched away under its piled-up clouds. - -“Better for business down in the village, I should think,” said the man -briskly. - -“Yes, it’s better for business,” admitted Andy. “Only I’ve got kind of -used to it up here.” His eye sought the house. “I was born in there, you -know—and my father lived there and my grandfather.” - -The real-estate man’s hand reached to his pocket and found something and -drew it out, slowly. - -Andy’s eyes rested on it, fascinated. - -The man seemed to hesitate. He looked down at the roll in his hand, and -half returned it to his pocket. Then he looked again, doubtfully, at the -house and barn and chicken-coop. He had turned his back on the right -of way and the horizon line above them. “I’ll tell you how it is, Mr. -Halloran—” His voice was frankly confidential—“I have taken a liking to -your place and I’d be willing to pay a little more for it than for some -place I didn’t fancy. I’m made like that.” He expanded a little. “Now, -value for value, Gruchy’s place is worth twice what yours is—and I know -it.” He looked at him narrowly. “But I’m going to offer you a thousand -dollars—five hundred down and five hundred the first of the month—if you -want to close now.” He fingered the bills a little. - -Andy’s eyes grew round. “I’ll have to ask Harr’et,” he said. “She ain’t -very well.” He glanced toward a darkened window at the rear of the -house—“She’s havin’ neuralgia—off and on—I wouldn’t want to ask her when -she has it. She has a bad spell today.” He shook his head. - -The other looked at him sympathetically. “I have to go to-night—and I -couldn’t be sure I’d want to offer a thousand in the morning—even if I -stayed—not if I came across something I like better.” He returned the -bills decisively to his pocket. - -Andy’s glance followed them. “I don’t really need to ask her.” His -glance flickered. “She’s said, time and again, she ’d be glad if I’d -sell. She comes from northeast of Digby. I reckon she ’d like to go -back.” - -“Digby’s a fine place,” said the man. “Well, good day, Mr. Halloran. I’m -glad to have met you.” He held out a round hand. - -Andy took it without enthusiasm. “I do ’no’ but I might as well sell,” -he said feebly. - -The other waved it away. “Don’t think of it—not without your wife’s -consent—not if you’re accustomed to doing what she tells you.” - -“I ain’t,” said Andy indignantly. - -“Of course not—I only meant that you ’d be better satisfied—” - -“I’m satisfied now,” said Andy. “You pay me the five hundred down, and -the place is yours.” - -The man cast a cool glance at the house and barn and the white fowl -strutting before them. “Well—if you really want to sell—” He drew the -roll from his pocket and counted out the bills slowly, handing them to -Andy with careless gesture. - -Andy’s hand closed about them spasmodically and he looked down at them -with half-open mouth and grinned a little. - -“Now, if you ’ll sign the receipt—” The man drew a fountain pen from -his pocket and wrote a few lines rapidly. “There you are. Sign here, -please.” - -Andy’s fingers found the place and rubbed it a little and traced his -name slowly. He looked at the crumpled bills, and a deep smile filled -his face. “Harr’et will be pleased!” he said. - -“That’s good!” The real-estate man beamed on him benignantly. “Tomorrow -we will draw up the papers, and you can look about you for a place. You -’ll find something to suit, and I sha ’n’t hurry you—Take your time.” He -moved off slowly, waving his hands in a kind of real-estate benediction, -and Andy stared after him, entranced. - -“Oh, by the way—” The man came back. “I wouldn’t say anything about it -if I were you—not for a while. There are always people ready to make -trouble—and you ’ll be able to buy cheaper if they don’t know you’ve got -to buy.” He beamed on him. “Of course, if you have to tell your wife—?” - -“I don’t have to,” blurted Andy. - -“All the better—all the better. The fewer women know things, the -better.” The man smiled genially, and his light, smooth steps bore him -away—out of Andy’s sight. - -When he had disappeared, Andy looked down at the bills. He drew out from -his coat a large rumpled handkerchief and tied the bills skillfully in -one corner and thrust it back into his pocket. Then he walked, with firm -step, past the darkened window, into the house. - - - - -XVIII - -THERE was a gathering cloud in the air—brooding, like a storm. Uncle -William looked up to it, then he went on dragging his dory down the -beach to the water’s edge. A voice sailed through the air, and he paused -and looked up. Benjy, coming down the rocky path, was signalling to him -violently. Uncle William dropped the dory and stood up. He advanced up -the beach and the two men faced each other. Great clouds were rolling up -from the horizon, and down behind them the sea boomed. - -“Have you heard what’s going on?” demanded Bodet. He was breathing a -little grimly. - -“I kind o’ got it out of Andy this morning,” admitted Uncle William. - -Bodet looked at him in silence. - -“I do’ ’no’ why I didn’t get the idee sooner,” went on Uncle William. -“Their lumber must have been lying around here fo-five days, now. But -you’ve had such a lot of stuff clutterin’ up the dock, that I didn’t -take no notice. I do’ ’no’ ’s I’d ’a’ seen it this morning—only Andy -looked so kind o’ queer and meachin’ down ’t the dock—that I said plain -out to him, I said, ’What you been doing, Andy?’ An’ he had to tell me. -He hated to—like pizen. Uncle William smiled a little. I told him he ’d -been putty foolish,” he added slowly. - -“Foolish!” Bodet fizzed. “It’s a crime! Building a hotel!—up there!” He -waved his hand up over the great cliffs. - -Uncle William looked up to them with kindly eye. “‘Tain’t a -hotel—exactly—” - -“Seventy-five rooms,” said Bodet. - -“‘Tis a good many,” said Uncle William. - -“Traipsing all over the place—I’ll shoot ’em,” said Bodet savagely. - -“Shootin’ won’t do any good, Benjy.” Uncle William was mild. “I thought -about shootin’ ’em myself—whilst I was bein’ mad this mornin’.” - -“They sha ’n’t step on my land—nor yours,” said Bodet. “Do you think I’d -have come up here—to the ends of the earth—to be tramped on?” - -“Why, no, Benjy—an’ you ain’t goin’ to be tramped on.” Uncle William’s -voice was soothing. “But, you see—they’ve got a right to go acrost your -land, and across mine.” - -Bodet looked at him. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead -and put the handkerchief back. “What do you mean William?” he said. - -“Set down, Benjy.” Uncle William found a convenient rock. “It’s in the -deed. You see, Andy, he wanted it that way and I never thought much -about it, one way or the other—I reckon he wouldn’t ever ’a’ sold it -without,” Uncle William added slowly. “Anyway I give it to him, and -it runs right by your place—near as I can make out. I’ve been kind o’ -thinking about it since I found out.” - -Benjy groaned a little. - -“I know jest how you feel, Benjy.” Uncle William’s voice held a deep -note in in it, “—about rusticators, and havin’ ’em go by your windows, -all hours, day and night, a-gabbling and so kind o’ cheerful-like. I do’ -’no’ ’s I could stand it myself.” - -“I’m not going to stand it,” said Bodet, “I’ll sell out—leave the -Island.” - -“Mebbe that’s what he wants—what he’s countin’ on,” said William slowly. -Benjy glared at him. - -“Don’t you worry, Benjy.” Uncle William looked out to sea where the big -waves tumbled under the wind and the whitecaps gathered and bobbed and -rode high—“Don’t you holler ’fore you’re hurt. The’ ain’t anybody gone -past your windows yet.... I’m figgerin’ on it,” went on Uncle William, -“an’ I can’t stan’ it, no more ’n you can—to have ’em a-settin’ on the -beach here—” Uncle William’s gaze dwelt on it fondly. “‘Twouldn’t be the -same place—if I’d got to look up, any minute, and see two-three of -’em settin’, or kind o’ gettin’ into the boats, and squealin’.... It’s -partly the clo’es, I reckon,” said Uncle William after a minute, “—the -women’s things like men’s—and the men’s like women’s. Can’t tell which -from ’tother, half the time. Look up, and see a hat and coat and shoes, -mebbe, and think it’s a man and get your mind all fixed for a man—and -it turns into a woman.... There was a young man over to Pie Beach one -summer,” said Uncle William slowly, “that had a green veil onto his hat. -I’d hate to have a young man with a green veil a-settin’ on my beach.” - -Bodet snorted. - -Uncle William cast a mild eye at him. “They’re nice folks, too—some of -’em,” he said conscientiously, “and they’re always polite. They talk to -me real kind—and encouraging.” His eyes rested on the dark horizon line -beyond the tumbling waves. “But the’s suthin’ queer about the way I feel -when I’m talking with ’em. They’re polite and I’m polite—real polite, -for me. But sometimes, when we’re a-settin’ here—as close as you be—and -talkin’ real comfortable, I get to feelin’ ’s if I was alongside a -chasm—kind of a big, deep place like—and standin’ on tiptoe, shouting -to ’em.” Uncle William wiped his forehead. “I gen’ally go out and sail a -spell after I’ve talked to ’em,” he added. Bodet laughed ont. - -Uncle William smiled. “Now, don’t you mind, Benjy. I’m figgerin’ on it. -I reckon we ’ll manage to live along—somehow.” - -“The place is his,” said Bodet, “bought and paid for—” - -“A thousand dollars,” said Uncle William. - -Bodet looked at him—then he groaned softly. “And he ’ll use your land, -and mine, for a door-yard—and the beach for a sand-pile. All he needs is -land enough to build his hotel on—and he’s got it.” - -“Yes, he’s got it,” admitted William, “and they must have quite a piece -of building done, by this time—They’re adding on and raising up, Andy -said.” Uncle William got to his feet. “I reckon I’ll go take a look at -it.” He glanced at the harbor. “No kind o’ day to fish—George Manning -working?” he asked casually. - -“Yes—he’s working.” Bodet’s tone was a little stiff. - -“Um-m—” Uncle William moved off a little distance. He drew his dory up -the beach, and pottered about a little. “I was just going out to see to -the Jennie,” he said. “But she’s all right—and mebbe it ’ll blow over.” -He looked up at the sky. “I o’t to get some things down ’t the store—” -He felt in his pockets. “You got any money, Benjy?” - -Benjy shook his head. “I can give you a cheque if you want it.” There -was a little, quizzical smile with the words. - -Uncle William paused, his hand half drawn from his pocket—a light -filled his face, and a little laugh. “That ’ll do, Benjy—that ’ll do -fust-rate,” he said. - -Bodet drew out his cheque book and opened it. “How much do you want!” he -asked. - -Uncle William paused. He looked at the cliffs, and at the sky—“I might -want a considabul,” he said slowly—“Couldn’t you just sign your name -down there, Benjy, the way you do, and let me get what I need?” - -Bodet looked at him a minute. Then he signed the cheque and handed it to -him—a little smile in his eyes. “Tell me what you make it,” he said. - -“Oh, I’ll tell you,” said Uncle William cordially. “I’d tell you -now—only I don’t know how much it ’ll cost—what I’m going to buy.” He -moved off up the beach. - -At the foot of the cliff he paused and looked back. “Mebbe I’ll see -Harriet,” he said. “Her temper ain’t good. But she’s firm, and she’s got -sense.” - -Bodet shook his head. “The thing is tied tight, William. I looked into -it before I came down.” - -“‘D you see Moseley?” said William. “He could tell ye. He knows the -Island—and everybody on it.” - -“Yes, I saw him. He said the papers were drawn and signed—two weeks -ago—in his office. You’re not dealing with Andy—this time, William.” - -“I guess I’ll go see Harr’et,” said Uncle William cheerfully. “And don’t -you worry, Benjy. The’ ain’t nobody going to set on your land without -you want ’em to—it ain’t right—and it ain’t goin’ to be.” - -Uncle William smiled—a great, reassuring smile—and mounted the zigzag -path to the cliff. For a minute his figure loomed against the sky at the -top. Then it disappeared over the edge, headed toward Andy’s house. - - - - -XIX - -THE large man came softly along the beach, treading with light, smooth -steps. - -Uncle William, mending his net, did not look up. - -The man paused beside him, and looked about—with pleased, expansive eye. - -Uncle William’s glance rested on him. - -The man looked down. “Good morning, Mr. Benslow—I’ve come back, you -see.” - -“I see ye,” said Uncle William. - -The man filled his chest. “I’ve come to see how they’re getting on—over -at my place. I bought a small piece, of Halloran, you know—You heard -about it, I presume?” - -“Andy said suthin’ about your wantin’ to buy of him,” said Uncle William -discreetly. - -“Yes, I bought his house and what land goes with it. It’s small—but -there didn’t seem to be much land for sale around here—” He dropped a -casual eye in Uncle William’s direction. - -Uncle William’s face was placid. - -“I’m building a little,” said the man. - -“So I heard tell,” said Uncle William. - -“It’s a great place,” said the man. His chest expanded a little more. -“I shall advertise, of course, and I expect a good class of patrons for -this place.” He balanced himself on his toes and looked down on Uncle -William benignantly. - -Uncle William went on mending his net. His blue eyes squinted at the -meshes and his big arms moved hack and forth in even rhythm. - -The man looked down at him doubtfully. Then he found a nail keg—a stout -one—and sat down. “I want to be on good terms with my neighbors, Mr. -Benslow,” he said genially. He was leaning forward a little, toward -Uncle William, one arm resting on his knee and the hand spread out -toward him. - -Uncle William looked at it a minute. Then he pushed up his spectacles -and looked out to sea. “The’ ain’t many neighbors round here,” he said, -“—jest me and Benjy—and Andy.” - -“That’s what I meant,” said the man, “only I’m the neighbor now instead -of—Hallo!—There’s Halloran himself. I want to speak to him,” He rose -cautiously from his keg and motioned to Andy who was disappearing behind -a pile of lumber down on the dock. - -Andy came out, a little grudgingly, it seemed, and the man moved forward -to meet him. - -Uncle William went on mending his net. - -When the man returned his face had a reddish look and his voice was a -little controlled and stiff. “Halloran tells me you’ve put an injunction -on my work up there?” He moved his hand toward the cliff. - -Uncle William held up his net and squinted at it. “We-l-l,” he said -slowly, “we told ’em they better not do any more building—not till you -come.” He looked at him mildly. - -There was silence on the beach. The galls sailed overhead and the waves -lapped softly, rippling up and back, with little salt washes. Uncle -William looked about him with contented gaze. “We don’t really need a -hotel on the Island, Mr. Carter—not really,” he said slowly. - -The man looked at him a moment. Then he sat down on the keg, adjusting -his weight nicely. “I understand your feeling, Mr. Benslow, I understand -it perfectly—and it’s natural. But you don’t foresee, as I do, what a -hotel will do for this Island. I’ve had experience in these matters, and -I can tell you that in three years—” he looked about him proudly, “you -wouldn’t know the place!” - -Uncle William cast a quick glance at the cliff—“I don’t suppose I -should,” he said hastily. - -“And as for values—” The man’s hand swept the horizon. “You could sell -at your own price. I’m really doing you a favor, Mr. Benslow—” he leaned -toward him, “if you had foresight.” - -“Yes, I reckon it takes foresight,” said Uncle William. He looked at -him mildly. “I might just as well tell ye, Mr. Carter—you can’t build no -hotel—not up here. You can build down ’t the village, if you want to,” -he added. - -“In that hole—?” The man looked at him cynically. “Do you think anybody -would board in that hole?” - -“I shouldn’t want to myself,” admitted William, “but folks are -different—some folks are different.” - -The man rose to his feet. “I shall be sorry to have any ill feeling -with you, Mr. Benslow. But you can’t expect me to sacrifice my plans—not -unless you are willing to buy the place yourself.” He dropped a narrow -eye on him for a minute. - -“That’s what I was thinking,” said Uncle William cordially. - -The man smiled a little. “What would you consider it worth?” he asked -pleasantly. - -“Well—” Uncle William considered, “I do’ ’no’ just what ’tis worth. We -paid Andy two thousand for it.” - -The man’s mouth looked at him for a minute, then it closed, in a little -smile. “You mean you would pay that,” he suggested. - -“I mean we did pay it,” said Uncle William stoutly, “—last week. An’ -then I told ’em not to drive another nail, or I’d sue ’em!” He was -sitting erect now and there was a little glint in the blue eyes. “Set -down, Mr. Carter.” He motioned to the nail keg. “I might jest as well -tell ye—plain out—so ’s ’t you can understand. Andy didn’t own that -place. He ain’t owned it for years. He don’t own stock nor stone on the -Island—Don’t own his own boat out there—” Uncle William nodded to -the dark boat, rocking beside the Jennie. Andy, on the deck, was busy -hauling up the sail and making ready to cast off. Uncle William’s eye -rested on him, with a little humorous gleam. “You see, Andy, he got -scared, fo-five years ago, ’bout his property. He’s a kind o’ near man, -Andy is, and he got the idee he ’d make everything over to Harr’et—to -have it safe. So that’s what he done. He give her a paper saying he ’d -made it all over to her—everything. Nobody knew it, I guess—except me. -And I wouldn’t ’a’ known it if it hadn’t been for one day, when we was -out sailin’—We got to talking about one thing and another—and fust thing -he knew, he ’d told me. He made me promise not to tell, and I ain’t -told—not a soul—not till now.” Uncle William beamed on him. “I reckon -’twon’t do any harm now.” - -The man’s gaze was fixed on him. “I shall see what the law has to say -about it,” he said quietly. - -“Well, I would if I was you,” said Uncle William cordially, “I did, when -I bought my piece. I see a lawyer—a good one—and he said my deed wa ’n’t -wuth the paper ’twas writ on if Harr’et didn’t give a quit-claim deed—So -she give it.” - -The man’s gaze was looking out to sea. - -Uncle William looked at him benevolently. “It ain’t a just law—anybody -can see it ain’t just! How was you going to know ’t Harr’et owns Andy? -I wouldn’t ’a’ known it if we hadn’t been sailing that way. And -you couldn’t ’a’ known it—You didn’t know,” said Uncle William with -conviction. - -The narrow eyes turned on him for a minute. “There’s such a thing as -law,” he repeated. - -“Law’s ticklish,” said Uncle William. “Far as I make out, the man that’s -got the most money, beats—after a spell.” - -There was silence again. “I suppose you know I paid Halloran five -hundred down,” said the man. - -“Yes, Andy told me about the five hundred down—and five hundred the -first of the month.” Uncle William’s hand sought his pocket. “Andy give -that five hundred to me. I reckon he kind o’ hated to hand it to ye.” -Uncle William’s eye sought the dark boat that had lifted sail and was -creeping out of the harbor. “I told him I’d just as lives give it to you -as not—I’d be real glad.” He held out the roll of bills. - -The man took them, in thick fingers, and counted them. - -Uncle William watched him, with deep, detached eye—“I’ll tell you how it -is, Mr. Carter—You wouldn’t ever ’a’ been happy here on the Island—not -really happy. You see, here on the Island, we gen’ally fish, or cut -bait, or go ashore. You ’d like it better to go ashore.” - -The man moved away a few steps. “To tell you the truth, I am glad to be -out of it,” he said, “I was making your land altogether too valuable—and -nothing in it for me.” - -“That’s the way I felt,” said Uncle William cordially. “I don’t like -things ’t I own to get too val’able. It makes a lot of bother owning -’em.... You ’ll just about get the boat—if you was thinkin’ of going -today,” he suggested. - -The man looked at him—then he smiled and held out his hand. “Good-by, -Mr. Benslow. I think I know a gentleman—when I meet him.” - -Uncle William rubbed his hand down his trouser leg and took the one that -was held out. “Good-by, Mr. Carter. I don’t suppose I’ll see you again. -You won’t be comin’ back to the Island, I suppose. But we ’ll buy your -lumber—we can work it in somehow, I reckon.” - -The man moved away, and Uncle William returned to his net. Now and then -his eyes sought the little dark boat that sailed back and forth against -the misty horizon—and a smile crept up to the eyes and lingered -in them—a little smile of humor and gentleness and kindly pity and -strength. - - - - -XX - -I'd. let him go, Benjy, if I was you.” Two weeks had gone by and the -mackerel continued to run. George Manning had stayed by the house, -driving nails with big, fierce strokes and looking out over the harbor -with his set face.... The house had come on rapidly—the shingling was -done and most of the inside woodwork was up. A new set of men had been -put on, to replace the mackerel men, and Manning drove them hard. It had -not been easy to get men, or to keep them—with the mackerel schooling -red out there in the harbor. But something in Manning’s eye held them to -their work. - -“I’d let him go, Benjy,” said Uncle - -William. The two men stood in front of the new house, looking toward it. -“He’s got her closed in tight—” went on Uncle William, “Windows all in. -The’ can’t anything happen to her now.... He’s stood by ye putty well,” -he suggested craftily—“better ’n I’d ’a’ done—with all that goin’ on out -there!” He waved his hand at the water. - -Bodet’s eye followed the motion. “I want him for the inside work,” he -said. - -Uncle William looked at him benevolently. “I know you want him, Benjy. -But here on the Island we al’ays kind o’ give and take—Ain’t you been -taking quite a spell?” he added gently. - -Bodet turned a little. “A contract’s a contract,” he said uneasily. - -“Well, mebbe,” said Uncle William, “I reckon that’s why we ain’t ever -had many contracks here on the Island—We’ve al’ays liked to live along -kind o’ humanlike.” - -Bodet smiled a little. “I’ll let him off,” he said, “—if he ’ll get -things along so we can paint—I can look after the painting for him -myself—” his chest expanded a little. - -Uncle William’s eye was mild. “I reckoned you ’d come around to doin’ -it, Benjy. We wouldn’t ever ’a’ felt comfortable, sitting in your -house—when ’twas all done,” Uncle William looked at it approvingly—“We -wouldn’t ’a’ wanted to set there and look at it and remember how George -Manning didn’t get a chance to put down a net all this season.... I -reckon I’d al’ays kind o’ remember his face—when I was settin’ there—the -way he looks in there, and the mackerel ripplin’ round out there in the -water—and him hammerin’.” - -Bodet grunted a little. “All right—I’ll let him off—tomorrow.” - -Uncle William beamed on him. “You ’ll feel a good deal better, Benjy—now -’t you’ve done it. I see it was kind o’ making you bother?” - -“I could have stood it—quite a while yet—if you could have,” said Bodet -dryly. - -Uncle William chuckled and looked toward the house—“There’s George in -there now—You go tell him—why don’t you, Benjy.” - -He moved away and Bodet stepped toward the house. He disappeared inside -and Uncle William seated himself on a rock and studied the boats that -dotted the harbor. Only two were at anchor—the new Jennie, riding in -proud, fresh paint, near by, and George Manning’s great boat—dark green, -with crimson lines and gleams of gold along the prow. She was a handsome -boat, large and finely built, and Maiming had refused more than one -offer for her for the mackerel season.... - -He would take her out himself—or she should ride the season at anchor. - -Uncle William turned toward the house—The young man was coming from the -door. “Hello, George—I hear you’re going out!” - -The sombre face smiled a little. “‘Bout time!” His eye dropped to the -big boat and lingered on it. “She’s all ready—and I’ve got my pick of -men.” He gathered a stem of grass from the cliff and took it in his -teeth. “I don’t believe I was going to hold out much longer,” he said. - -“Oh, yes—you ’d ’a’ held out. I wa ’n’t a mite afraid of your not -holdin’ out,” said Uncle William. “All I was afraid of was that Benjy ’d -hold out—I kind o’ thought he ’d be ’shamed byme-by—when he come to see -how ’twas on the Island.... It’s different, living on an island, George. -We can’t expect everybody to see what we do—right off, I guess. There’s -something about living on an island, perhaps. You just get little handy -samples o’ things and see how ’tis—right off. Bein’ born on an island’s -a dretful good thing—saves you hurryin’ and repentin’.” Uncle William -gazed at the horizon. “Benjy don’t like repentin’ any more ’n you do. He -’ll be real glad ’bout your going—byme-by.” - -“I’m going down to fix things up a little—I’ll be back along towards -night.” - -“Oh—George—?” Uncle William’s fingers fumbled in his pocket. - -The young man held his step. - -“I’ve got it here—somewheres—” murmured Uncle William. “Yes—here -’tis.... You just give this to Celia, will you?” He held out a torn -envelope. “You tell her to put it behind the clock for me.” Uncle -William’s face was impassive. - -The young man eyed it a minute.... - -“All right.” He held out his hand. “I wasn’t expecting to go by your -place. But I can—if you want me to.” He tucked the note in his pocket -and moved off. - -Uncle William looked after him with a kindly smile—“Just hates to do -it—worst way,” he murmured.... “Don’t none of us know what’s good for -us, I reckon—no more ’n he does.” - -Celia, moving about the room like a bird, paused a moment and listened. -Then she went cautiously to the window and pushed back the red curtain -and looked out... her eyes followed the line of road, with eager, -glancing look—little smiles in them and bubbles of laughter. She dropped -the curtain and went back to her work, shaking out pillows and dusting -the quaint room, with intent, peering looks that darted at the dust and -shook it out and rebuked it as it flew. - -A shadow blocked the door, but she did not look up. She held a pillow -in her hand, looking severely at a rip in the side and Uncle William’s -feathers fluffing out.... The young man scraped his feet a little on the -stone step. - -She looked up then—the severe look still in her face. “Mr. Benslow is -not here,” she said. - -“I know he is not here.” He stepped over the sill. “He asked me to give -you this.” He fetched the foolish paper out of his pocket grimly and -looked at it and handed it to her. - -She took it gravely. “What is it for?” she asked. - -“He said you were to put it behind the clock—I don’t know what it’s -for—” he said a little gruffly. - -Her laugh scanned the bit of paper. “I can put it behind the clock—if he -wants it there—” She walked over and tucked it away. “But I think it’s a -funny idea,” she said. - -“So do I,” said George. - -“Will you sit down?” She motioned to the disorderly room. - -“I’ve got to go,” he replied. He looked about him—sitting down. - -A little smile played through Celia’s face and ran away. “I didn’t thank -you for carrying the potatoes for me—that night—” she said politely. -“You went off so quick I didn’t get a chance.” - -“I’m going mackereling tomorrow,” responded George. - -“You are!” Her eyes opened. “Did Mr. Bodet say you could?” - -His face darkened. “I’d have gone before—so far as he is concerned.” He -straightened himself a little. - -“Oh—I—thought—he didn’t want you to go.” - -“He didn’t—but that isn’t what kept me.” - -“What was it—kept you, then?” She had seated herself and her hands, -holding the dust-cloth, were crossed demurely in her lap. - -George looked at them. “I stayed because I thought I ought to,” he said. - -“I’d have gone.” She gave a little flit to the dust-cloth and folded it -down. - -He turned his eyes away. “Likely enough you would—” he said, “you’re a -woman—” - -“I don’t know what you mean by that!” She had got to her feet and was -looking at him. - -“I don’t know just what I mean myself,” said George. “But I guess I -didn’t mean any harm—women are just different, you know.... I’ve got to -go now—” he said, crossing his legs. - -“You’ve got a nice boat,” said Celia. The teasing look had left her -face. - -“Do you think so?” He flushed a little and lifted his eyes to the -window. - -“Uncle William says she’s the best boat on the harbor,” said Celia. - -“Well—I guess she is.... He’s got a good one, too—mine’s bigger,” said -George. - -“It’s a beautiful boat, I think,” said the girl. She had gone to the -window and was looking down. The wind came in and blew past her curls a -little and ruffled around through the room. - -“I’d like to take you out in her some day,” said George. - -“Would you!” She turned to him, with a quick little flutter of curls and -the color dabbing her cheeks. “I’d love to go!” - -“All right.” He got up. He went toward the door slowly—as if fingers -held him. - -The girl did not stir.... - -He turned at the door and looked at her—“Good-bye,” he said— - -“Good-bye.” She moved a step, “Oh—I—” - -He paused a minute—waiting. - -“I thank you for bringing the paper,” said Celia. - -“That’s all right.” He moved away down the path. - -She stood where he had left her—the dust-cloth in her hand, the little -clear color in her cheeks. Slowly the look changed. By and by she went -to the window and looked out. Down below, a young man had drawn a dory -to the water’s edge and was shoving off. She watched him seat himself -and pull out with long, easy strokes. - -Presently he looked up. He crossed the clumsy oars in one hand and -lifted his hat. - -The dust-cloth fluttered a moment and was gone. - -With a smile the young man replaced his hat and resumed the oars. The -dory moved through the water with long, even motion—and overhead a gull -followed the dory, hanging on moveless, outspread wings. - - - - -XXI - -THE day was alive—pink dawn, moving waves, little tingling breaths of -salt, and fresh, crisp winds. Celia, up in the little house, was singing -bits of song, peering into closets and out, brushing and scrubbing and -smiling, and running to and fro.... Uncle William, out on the big rock -near the house, turned his head and listened to the flurry going on -inside.... There was a pause and a quick exclamation—and silence. -Through the open door he could see the curly head bent over an old -plate. She was standing on a chair and had reached the plate down from -the top shelf. Uncle William’s face fell a little. She jumped down from -the chair and came toward the door, holding it at arm’s length. “Look at -that!” she said. - -Uncle William looked. “That’s my boot-grease,” he said a little -wistfully. “I put it up there—kind o’ out of your way, Celia.” - -She set it down hard on the rock. “I’ll make you some fresh—when I get -to it.” She disappeared in the door, and Uncle William looked at the -plate. He half got up and reached out to it—“The’s suthin’ about real -old grease—” he murmured softly. He took up the plate and looked at -it—and looked around him—at the sky and moor and sea.... “I do’ ’no’ -where I’d put it ’t she wouldn’t find it,” he said regretfully. He set -the plate down on the rock and returned to his harbor. A light wind -touched the water and the little boats skimmed and shook out sail. Down -on the beach George Manning was bending over his dory, stowing away -nets. The other men on the beach went to and fro, and scraps of talk and -laughter floated up. Uncle William leaned over, scanning the scene with -happy eye—“When you goin’ out, Georgie?” he called down. - -The young man lifted his head and made a hollow of his hands—“Waiting -for Steve,” he called up. - -“He goin’ out with ye?” - -The young man nodded and pointed to a figure loping down over the rocks. - -The figure joined him and stood by him. The two men were talking and -scanning the sky. Uncle William gazed over their heads—out to the clear -horizon.... “Best kind o’ weather,” he murmured. He looked a little -wistfully at the Jennie rocking below. - -Celia came to the door, “You going out today, Mr. Benslow?” - -Uncle William shook his head and looked at the sky. - -“It’s a good day,” said Celia. - -“Best kind o’ day—” assented Uncle William. He looked again at the -heavens. Little scallops—rays of clouds, shot athwart it. - -“I’d go if I was you,” said Celia. - -“I thought mebbe I’d stay and help Benjy—byme-by. George Manning’s going -out.” The corner of his eye sought her face. - -It dimpled a little. “He told me he was going out—when he brought the -paper yesterday,” she said. “It’s behind the clock—when you want it,” -she added. - -“I don’t want it—not now,” said Uncle William absently. - -Celia returned to her work and Uncle William was left in the clear, -open peace of the morning. Along the horizon the boats crawled back and -forth, and down on the beach the clutter and hurry of men and oars came -up, fresh. He bent forward and watched it all—his big, round face full -of sympathy and happy comment.... - -“Much as ever George ’ll make out to set this morning,” he said. His -eye scanned the distant boats that crept along the horizon with cautious -tread. “He ought to ’a’ known Steve Burton ’d be late. Steve ’d miss his -own funeral—if they ’d let him.” Uncle William chuckled..... The great, -dark boat had lifted sail and was moving a little, feeling her way to -meet the mysterious power that waited somewhere out in the open—Uncle -William watched her swing to the wind and lift her wings.... - -He stepped to the door—“Oh, Celia—Want to see suthin’ pretty?” - -The girl went to the window and looked out. She gazed at the sky, and -swept the horizon with a look. “Anything different from usual?” she -said. Her eye kept away from the harbor. - -Uncle William came and stood behind her, looking down. “Just look down -there a minute, Celia.” He took the curly head in his hands and bent it -gently. - -She gazed at the boat—pacing slowly with the deepening wind—and her eyes -glinted a little. - -“Looks nice, don’t it?” said Uncle William. - -She nodded, her fingers on her apron traveling with absent, futile -touch. “I always like to see boats start off,” she said happily.... -“Look, how she takes the wind—!” She leaned forward, her eyes glowing, -her face lighted with the same quick, inner light that touched the -breeze and the sails. - -Uncle William, behind her, smiled benignantly. - -“He’s a good sailor,” he said contentedly, “I taught George how to sail -a boat myself.” - -He leaned forward beside her. The boat had come opposite them—gathering -herself for flight. The full sails tightened to the breeze, and the bow -rose and dipped in even rhythm.... The girl’s eyes followed it happily. - -Uncle William’s hands made a trumpet about his words—“Oh-o—George! -Oh-lo-ho!—Ship ahoy!” he bellowed. - -The young man looked up. He took off his hat and swung it about his -head. The boat was moving faster and the wind blew the hair from his -forehead. - -“Give him a kind of send-off, Celia!” said Uncle William. He untied the -little starched bow of her apron. “Wave it to him,” he said. “It ’ll -bring him good luck, mebbe—!” - -She pulled at the apron and flung it wide—shaking it up and down with -quick little movements that danced. - -“That’s the way,” said Uncle William, “That’s right.” - -The young man looked up with eager eyes. He leaped on the rail and ran -along with quick, light step, waving back. Then he sprang to the stem -seat and took the tiller. He was off to the mackerel fleet—with the sun -shining overhead—and up on the cliff the girl stood with eager eyes and -little freshening curls that blew in the wind. - -She tied on the apron soberly and went back to her work. - -Uncle William, standing up over the sink, was looking for something. - -“What is it you want?” she asked. - -Uncle William dimbed down and peered under the sink. “I used to have a -paintbrush,” he said. He looked about the room vaguely and helplessly— - -“Covered with red paint?” asked Celia. - -“—Mebbe ’twas red,” said Uncle William thoughtfully, “I do’ ’no’ when -I used that paint-brash—But it’s a good brush and Benjy said they was -short of brushes. I thought mebbe—” - -“It’s out behind the woodpile,” she said crisply, “I put it there -yesterday—fifty old rags with it—I was going to burn them up,” she -added, “but I didn’t get to it.” Her eyes danced. - -“They’re perfectly good paint rags, Celia.” Uncle William looked at her -reproachfully. “I was tellin’ Benjy this morning I’d got a nice lot of -rags for him. I do’ ’no’ what I’d ’a’ done if you ’d burned them up.” - -“There are plenty more around,” said the girl. She looked meaningly at a -bit of wristband that showed below his sleeve. - -Uncle William tucked it hastily out of sight. “I gen’ally trim ’em off,” -he said. “But I couldn’t find my scissors this morning—I thought the -knife had cut it putty good?” He peered down at it distrustfully. - -“Knife!” The word was scornful—but the little look that followed him -from the door held only gentleness and affection. - -Uncle William, outside the door, looked at the sky and the harbor, with -the mackerel fleet sailing on it—and at the Jennie rocking below. Then -his eye traveled, half guiltily, over the moor toward Benjy’s, and -back.... “Best kind o’ weather,” he murmured. “No kind o’ day to—” He -took a step toward Benjy’s house—another, and another, and moved briskly -off up the road. Suddenly he turned, as if a hand had been laid on his -shoulder, and strode toward the rocky path that led to the beach. A big -smile held his face. “—No kind o’ day to paint,” he said softly as he -dragged the dory to the water’s edge and shoved off. Five minutes later -the Jennie had hoisted anchor and was off to the fleet. Benjy, painting -with Gunnion up in the new house, looked out now and then from the -window as if hoping to see a big figure rolling toward him along the -white road. - -Celia, in the little house on the cliff, brought a roll of cloth from -the shelf over the sink and undid it slowly. Inside was a large pair -of scissors. She smiled a little as she took them up and spread out -the cloth. It was a great garment, the size and shape of Uncle William. -Sitting by the window, where the breeze blew in from the water, her -thimble flew in the light. Now and then she glanced far out where the -boats sailed. Then her eyes returned to her needle and she sewed with -swift stitches... a little smile came and went on her face as the breeze -came and went on the water outside. - - - - -XXII - -IN the clear morning light the mackerel fleet stood out against the -horizon. Only one boat had not gone out—a dark one, green with crimson -lines and gold along her prow. The girl on the beach looked at it -curiously as she selected her fish from the dory, transferring them to -the pan held high in the hollow of her arm. The silver scales gleamed in -the sun—lavender, green and blue, and violet-black, as she lifted them, -in running lines of light. The salt tang in the air and the little wind -that rippled the water touched her face. She lifted it with a quick -breath and looked out to the mackerel fleet upon the sea.... Uncle -William had promised to take her—some day. She returned again to her -fish, selecting them with quick, scrutinizing glance.... A shadow -fell across the pan and she looked up. The young man had paused by the -dory—and was regarding her with sombre eyes. - -The little curls shook themselves and she stood up. “Aren’t you going -out?” - -The sombre eyes transferred themselves to the sky. “By and by—maybe—no -hurry.” He smiled down at her, and the blood in her cheeks quickened. - -“Everybody else has gone—” She waved an impatient hand at the distant -fleet that sailed the horizon. - -“I haven’t gone,” he said. He continued to study the sky with serene -gaze. - -“Why don’t you?” she asked severely. - -He looked at her again, the little, dark smile touching his lip, “I’m -waiting for luck,” he said. - -“You won’t find it here—” Her eye swept the beach—with its tumbling -fishhouses and the litter of dories and trawls. - -“Maybe I shall,” he said. He looked down at the dory. “There are more -fish right there than I’ve caught in three days,” he said quietly. - -Her wide eyes regarded him—with a little laugh in them somewhere. “They -call you ’King of the Fleet,’ don’t they?” she said demurely. - -“That’s what they call me,” he replied. He moved a little away from her -toward a dory at the water’s edge. “Want to go out?” he said carelessly. - -Her eyes danced, and she looked down at the fish in her pan and up to -the sky, and ran lightly to the fish-house and pushed the pan far inside -and shut the door. “I ought to be getting dinner,” she said, coming -back, with a quick smile. - -“Never mind dinner.” He held out his hand and she scrambled into the -dory, her eyes shining and the little curls bobbing about her face. She -was like a child—made happy. - -He pulled out with long strokes, looking contentedly at her as she sat -huddled in the end of the boat. “I am taking you along for luck, you -know.” - -“I’ll never bring anybody luck,” she replied. Her eyes followed the -great gulls overhead. “I’m like the birds, I guess,” she lifted her -hand, “I just keep around where luck is.” - -“That’s good enough for me,” he replied. He helped her into the boat -and lifted anchor, running up the sails and casting off. The breeze -freshened and caught the sail and filled it and the great boat crept -from the harbor and rounded the point.... Out in the open, it was -blowing stiff and the boat ran fast before it, little dashes of spray -striking the bow and flying high. The girl’s laugh sounded in the -splashing water, and the salt spray was on her arms and cheeks and hair. - -The young man looked at her and smiled and turned the bow—ever so -little—to take the wave and send it splashing about her, and her laugh -came to him through the swash of the spray. It was a game—old as the -world... pursuit and laughter and flight and soft, shining color and the -big sun overhead, pulling the whole game steadily through space—holding -the eggshell boats on the waves and these two, riding out to sea. - -He turned the bow again and the splashing of the water ceased. She -was looking at him with beseeching, shining eyes, and he bent a little -forward, a tremulous smile of power on his lip. He was drinking life—and -sky and sea were blotted out. The boat ran heedless on her way... and -he talked foolish nothings that sounded important and strange in his -unstopped ears.... The girl nodded shyly and spoke now and then—but only -to the sky and sea.... - -The sky had darkened and the distant fleet bore toward home—casting -curious glances toward the dark boat that moved with random hand.... -George Manning could be trusted in any blow, but he was up to something -queer off there—with a sky like that. They drew in sail and ran close, -making for harbor.... - -The young man looked up and blinked a little and sprang to his feet. He -had pushed the tiller as he sprang, and one leg held it firm while he -reached to the guy rope and loosed it. “Get down,” he said harshly. - -Her quick eyes questioned him and the little head lifted itself...With a -half-muttered word he had seized her, crowding her to the bottom of the -boat and ducking his head as the great boom swung past. - -She gazed at him in swift anger, pulling herself free. But her wrath -spoke only to the winds—He had run forward, dragging down the foresail, -and was back to the tiller—his dark face set sternly, his eyes on the -horizon. - -When she tried to get up, he did not look at her—“Stay where you are,” -he said roughly. - -She hesitated a minute and sank back, biting her lip close. The line of -gunwale that rose with heavy sweep to the sky and fell through space, -cut her off. There was only the creaking of the boat, straining against -the sea, and the figure of the man, above her, who had thrust her -down—the great figure of the man and the blackened sky. By and by the -rain fell and drenched her and the wind blew fiercely past the boat, -driving them on. She could see the great hand on the tiller tighten -itself to the wind, and force its will upon it, and the figure of the -man grow tense. One leg thrust itself quickly and struck against her and -pushed her hard—but she would not cry out—She hated him and his boat and -the great sea pounding about them.... She wanted to get her pan of fish -and go home to Uncle William and cook the dinner. The tears were on her -face, mingling with the rain and the salt water that drenched it. - -By and by the pounding waves grew less and the boat ceased to strain and -creak and the great hand on the tiller relaxed its hold a little. - -“You ’d better get up now,” he said—his voice sounded rough and -indifferent and she lifted indignant eyes, but he did not see her. His -gaze was still on the horizon, holding it with intent look. - -She got up and gathered the little loose curls in her hands, wringing -the water from them and shaking them apart. - -Then she got to her knees and crawled to the seat, shivering a little. -Off to the left, the woods of the Point shut off the main force of the -wind, but the breeze was still fresh. He took off his coat and tossed it -to her. “Put that on,” he said briefly. - -It fell on the seat beside her, but she did not touch it or look at it. -Her little face had a firm look. - -His gaze left the horizon, for a flash, and came back. “You put on that -coat,” he said. - -“I don’t want it—” The words trailed away in a sob. - -He did not look at her again. “You ’ll do as I tell you,” he said -quietly—“or I shall make you.” - -She reached out for the coat and put it on, drawing it miserably about -her chin—“I think you are horrid.” She was wiping away the tears that -ran quickly down. - -“I don’t care what you think—You might have been killed,” he added after -a pause. - -“I’d rather—have been—killed.” The breath she drew was a quick sob. - -He looked at her a minute. Then he looked away to the horizon. “There -can’t be two captains on a boat,” he said dryly—“I didn’t mean to hurt -you—I had to speak quick.” - -She did not reply. She did not look at him again—not even when he helped -her into the dory and rowed her ashore. - -“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he repeated, as he held up his hand to help -her from the boat. She leaped to the beach. “I wish I’d never gone -with you.” She stamped her little foot on the sand. “I’ll never go -again—never, never—not as long as I live!” She turned her back on him -and walked toward the fish-house. - -He looked after her, a curious glint in his eye. Then he looked at -his boat, riding at anchor, and the look changed subtly, “You needn’t -worry,” he said softly—but not too softly to reach the pink ears—“You -needn’t worry, Miss Celia—there will never be but one captain on a -boat.” - -She opened the door into the fish-house and took her pan and went up the -rocky path without a look behind her. - - - - -XXIII - -A NDY stepped up the road, a sombre look in his face. Now and then he -cast an eye at the mouth of the harbor where the mackerel fleet sailed. -Then he strode on with stately step. He had been fishing for a week -and had caught nothing—twice his net had been hung up on the rocks and -yesterday the dog-fish had run it through—and Harr’et’s temper was worn -thin.... He looked his grievance at the horizon. - -Harriet had been firm. If he could not fish, he should paint, and -Bodet was offering three-fifty a day. She had rented the boat, over his -head—his boat—and she had talked about Jonah, and had sent him out of -the house—with his paint brushes! - -Andy fizzed a little and stepped higher and looked ahead up the road. - -A figure, seated in the sunshine, was making strange pantomimic gestures -with a paint brush. Andy stopped a minute to look at it—then he came -steadily on. - -Uncle William looked up and nodded. “Hello, Andy—goin’ to help?” - -“Guess so,” said Andy. He glared at the harbor. - -Uncle William spatted his brush along the rock and dipped it again in -the tin can beside him. - -“What you doin’.” asked Andy. - -Uncle William squinted at the brush and rubbed it thoughtfully back and -forth—a deep red smudge followed it. “Kind o’ getting my brush ready,” -he said. - -Andy sniffed. “Bodet inside?” - -“Why, yes—he’s there—” Uncle William hesitated—“Yes—he’s there—” - -He drew a long flourish of red on the rock and looked at it approvingly. - -“It ’ll take you an hour to get that brush clean,” said Andy. - -“Do ye think so?” Uncle William beamed. “That’s just about what I -cal’-lated—an hour.” - -“I’m going to work,” said Andy virtuously. He moved toward the house. - -Uncle William cast an eye at him. “I do’ ’no’s I’d go in, Andy, if I was -you—not just yet.” - -“Why not?” He wheeled about. - -“Well—” Uncle William hesitated a second—and looked at the little clouds -and the big moor, “I don’t think Benjy’s ready,” he said, “not just -ready.” - -“What’s he doing?” asked Andy. - -“Kind o’ stewin’,” said Uncle William, “He’s got suthin’ on his -mind—about paint.” - -“Come—ain’t it!” Andy’s eye was curious. - -“Yes—it’s come—loads of it has come—” Uncle William drew the brush -thoughtfully back and forth, making little red dabs along the rock. -“The’s a good many kinds—and colors—and sizes—piled up in there—but the’ -ain’t any of ’em what Benjy wants.” He lifted his brush with a flourish. - -“What does he want, then!” - -“I do’ ’no ’s I can tell ye—exactly, Andy.” Uncle William gazed at the -harbor. “Benjy knows—somewheres in his mind—but he can’t seem to find -it on dry land.” Uncle William chuckled.... “Gunnion’s mixin’ ’em, you -know.” - -Andy nodded. - -“An’ he’s got a green mixed up in there—that’s along kind o’ east by -no’-east, I should think.... An’ what Benjy wants, far’s I make out, -is a green that’s kind o’ no’-east by east.” Uncle William chuckled -again.... “Jim puts in the color, you know, and daubs some of it on -a stick they’ve got there—and Benjy looks at it and says, no—’twon’t -do—needs more yellow or suthin’—and Jim chucks in a little yellow and -then they both look at it and Benjy kind o’ hops around—swears some. I -thought I’d come out and do my brushes.” - -“Gunnion’s a good painter,” said Andy. - -“Well—yes—he can lay it on putty good.... But they ain’t got to layin’ -on yet. I do’ ’no’s they ever will get to it,” said Uncle William -thoughtfully—“It ’d be easier if Benjy knew a little how the colors are -liable to act together, I guess—when you put ’em in.” Uncle William’s -eye was reflective. “I reckon that’s what makes him lose his head so,” -he said, “—he ain’t prepared in his mind for how Jim ’ll make them -colors act together. You see, Jim—he puts in the yellow and Benjy peeks -in the pail, expecting to see suthin’ kind o’ yellow and,’.tead o’ that, -the thing’s turned blue—sort o’.” - -“Like enough,” said Andy carelessly—“He ’d ought to know yellow and -blue will run towards green,” he said contemptuously, “—anybody ’d know -that.” - -“Benjy don’t know it,” said Uncle William, with an accent of decision. -“You can tell by the way he acts—lookin’ in the pail. You see he’s after -a green that’s a little mite more on the yellow—so he says, proud as -Punch, ’Put in more yellow,’ he says, and then—when he sees it—he says -things.” - -A voice sounded from the window and they turned around. Bodet stood in -it, beaming at them and at the landscape. “Come on in and see the color -we’ve got,” he said triumphantly. - -Uncle William gathered up his brush and turpentine and they moved slowly -toward the house. - -Benjy waved them toward the stairs. “Go up and look,” he said. - -Jim Gunnion, on the floor, was stirring a pot of paint with a stick. -There was a set look in his face as he stirred. - -Uncle William looked at him and winked. The look in Jim’s face moved a -little. - -“There’s a color for you!” said Bodet. He moved his hand proudly toward -the door panel. - -Uncle William put on his glasses and inspected it—“’.is a good color, -Benjy,” he said cordially, “I’m glad ye held out—both of ye.” - -Bodet, with his head thrown back, stared at the streak of old-fashioned -green on the panel. The man on the floor stirred the pot of paint. Uncle -William looked at them both with benignant eye.... “I reckon I’m all -ready to begin.” He drew the paint brush down the leg of his trousers -and looked at it inquiringly—“Putty clean,” he said with satisfaction. -“Now, where ’ll you have me?” - -The man on the floor handed him a pot of paint in silence and pointed to -the mop-board. Uncle William sighed a little and let himself down. Andy, -seizing another pail, attacked the unfinished panel. The painter went on -mixing color. Benjy, over by the window, studied the harbor. - -Presently he looked back into the room. “Fog’s setting in,” he said. -Andy came across and looked out. - -“Uh-huh,” he said. - -Uncle William, from the floor, looked up. “They’ve had quite a spell of -weather,” he said cheerfully, “and this ’ll give ’em a chance to rest up -a little and overhaul their tackle....’.is too bad about George—I -kind o’ reckoned he ’d ketch suthin’ today.” He got up and came to the -window. A great blanket of white was moving toward them, over the water. -All the little distant boats were hidden behind it.... “They ’ll hev to -come in keerful,” said Uncle William. “I reckon I won’t paint any more -today.” He laid his brush carefully along the top of the pail. - -Andy looked at him and looked at his panel and hesitated. “You better -stay here, Andy,” said Uncle William encouragingly. “You ’ll get quite a -lot done if you stay.” - -He went cheerfully out, and Benjamin, watching from the window, saw him -enter the blanket of fog and disappear. - - - - -XXIV - -UNDER its white garment, the Island lay muffled and still. Tiny specks -moved about on it—under some great canopy of space—they emerged and -drifted and ran—calling into the fog. Out at sea the bell sounded its -note, swinging to and fro with a deep, sharp clang. Men on the shore -listened to it and peered into the fog.... The boats had come creeping -in, one by one—some of them loaded to the rail—some grumbling at fog, -and riding high. Only two were out now, and the day had come on to -dusk—the dusk of the fog and of the night sliding silently in together. - -The whole Island had gathered on the beach, looking into the fog—peering -for glimpses of water, and the darker shapes of the boats out there.... -George Manning had not come in—and about noon Uncle William had lifted -anchor and drifted out, looking for absent boats—“Sometimes I kind o’ -sense where they be without seein’ ’em,” he had said.... The boats -were all in now, swinging at their moorings under the soft dusk—all but -Manning’s and Uncle William. The last boats in had had glimpses of the -Jennie and had heard Uncle William’s voice booming through the fog. “He -was off the Point, last I heard,” said a voice on the beach.... “He was -drifting along, sort o’ looking out—told us how things was ahead—then -the fog drove in and shut him off—then we heard him quite a spell after -we couldn’t see him”... the voice ran along the beach and ceased. - -Someone had lighted a bonfire, and the children went fitfully back and -forth in the glow.... The night was coming down.... “I don’t mind a -blow,” said a complaining voice, “I don’t care how hard a gale it blows, -but I can’t, stan’ fog.... I wish they was in.” - -Up in the little house on the cliff, the ship’s lantern was lighted—and -a dull eye glowed at the night.... In the room, the girl moved with -light feet, stopping now and then and bending her head for steps on the -path or for some sound of the sea. She crossed once to the window and -put her hands about her face and looked out into the grayness. She drew -back with a little quick breath, and went again to her work. - -On the beach, men strained their ears to listen... oar-locks creaked -faintly, marking the fog. The beach listened and drew to its edge.... -“That’s William!” - -“Uncle William’s come!”—The children rushed down the beach and stood -alert at the fog. - -The oar-locks creaked leisurely in and the big form grew to them—over -the dory’s bow. Hands reached out and drew it up on the sand as the wave -receded. Uncle William stepped out, without hurry—“No, I didn’t find -him—He must ’a’ gone out considabul far—put in-shore, like enough.” He -drew a hand down his length of face and flicked the moisture from it. -“Putty thick,” he said cheerfully. - -The children drifted off, with running shouts. Someone threw fresh -staves on the fire and the flames leaped up, playing against the great -curtain of fog and showing strange shapes. The faces took on mystery, -and moved in the leaping light—as if they were all a big play. The -calling tones deepened to the fog and the even-clanging bell rang its -note—and stopped—and rang again. - -Men went home to eat, and came back to the beach, and Uncle William -climbed to the house on the cliff. “It’s been a putty good day,” he said -placidly. “They’ve had quite a run o’ luck—forty-fifty barrel, all told, -I should think.” - -“Are they all in?” said the girl. She had placed the plate of fried fish -before him, and stood beside him, waiting—a wistful look in her face. - -“Where’s Benjy?” asked Uncle William, helping himself to fish with -leisurely hand. - -“Down to the beach—hours ago,” said the girl. - -“Um-m—I didn’t see him.... Yes, they’re all in now—except George. He ’ll -be along pretty quick, I guess.” He chewed with easy relish, reaching -down a hand to Juno as she rubbed alongside. “She had her supper?” he -asked. - -“No, sir—I was waiting for you—I guess I kind of forgot her, too,” said -the girl with a little laugh. “Here, Juno—!” Juno walked across with -stately mien to the plate of scraps. - -The girl lifted a sober face. “You going back down to the beach, Uncle -William!” - -“Well—mebbe I’ll go down a little while, byme-by. I didn’t leave the -Jennie all snug—You want some wood!” He peered into the box. - -“I brought some in—while I was waiting.” - -“You hadn’t ought to ’a’ done that, Celia—” - -“I hadn’t anything else to do,” said the girl, “and I was -tired—waiting.” She bent over the sink, scrubbing vigorously at the -kettle. - -Uncle William glanced at her. “If I was you, I wouldn’t do any more -tonight, Celia. I gen’ally chucked ’em under the sink—nights like this—” -His gaze sought the window. “You ought to be getting back to Andy’s -pretty quick—’fore it gets any darker. The fog’s coming in thick.” - -“I’m going—by and by. You through your supper?” She glanced at his -plate. - -“Yes, I’m through.” He looked at the plate a little guiltily. “It was -cooked nice,” he said. - -She smiled at him. “You didn’t eat much.” She carried the plate to the -sink. - -Uncle William took up his hat. “I’ll be going down, I guess.” He went to -the door—her glance followed him— - -“Uncle William—?” - -“Yes, Celia.” - -She was looking down at her hands. - -Uncle William came back. He reached out a hand and rested it on her -shoulder. “There ain’t any danger ’t the Lord can’t take care of, -Celia,” he said smiling. “I s’pose if I was takin’ care of him, I’d be -worried—a night like this.... But, you see, the Lord’s got him.” - -“Yes, sir,” said Celia. - -“You go right home—and you go to sleep,” said Uncle William. - -“I’d rather stay here,” said the girl quickly, “this is home.” - -“Why, so ’tis,” said Uncle William, “—and the’ ain’t any reason why -you can’t stay as well as not. You just lie down on the lounge here.... -Juno’s good comp’ny and there’s the fire, and lights.... You won’t get -lonesome.” He patted the shoulder and was gone. - -The girl finished the dishes and sat down in the big chair by the stove. -Juno came and jumped on her lap, and the girl gathered her up, hiding -her face in the thick fur.... Out in the harbor she could hear the -stroke of the fog-bell, and the voices from the beach, muffled and -vague. Something was in the air—her fingers tingled with it—the -electricity in Juno’s thick fur—or was it something out there with the -voices? She put down the cat and sat erect, gazing before her. Then -she got up and took a little shawl from its nail and flitted from the -room... down the steep path, stumbling and catching her breath—hurrying -on, her face toward the sea and the little shawl gathered closer about -her. - -A great form loomed from the mist and came close to her—“That you, -Celia?” It was Uncle William’s voice, with a deep note in it, and she -turned to him, catching at something in her throat, “I couldn’t stay up -to the house—” It was a breathless cry— - -“There—there—You come right here.” He gathered her hand, laying it on -his arm and patting it a little. “Now we ’ll run along,” he said, “and -see what’s doing.” - -Down the beach they could hear the voices talking, calling—dying away. -The fire had flared up, and the faces danced in and out.... “I kind o’ -sense suthin’ coming,” said Uncle William. - -There was a long, gruff sound—a big whistle, like low thunder—and -silence... then the whistle—sharper, and seeking—and the muffled -chugging of big screws.... The faces, toward the sea, waited—intent. -“She’s off her course—“... The vague sounds came in nearer—and sheered -away.... Through the veiling fog they could see red lights—and green—of -the steamer. Then the whistle broke shrilly and moved off... the -churring waves followed her.... On the beach they had thrown fresh brush -on the fire, great armfuls that flared high—and the sound of the steamer -dwindled through the mist. - -“Looks as if the moon might break through,” said Uncle William. The eyes -looked up to a luminous spot in the fog—and came back to the beach.... -“He ’d ’a’ been in hours ago,” said Andy, “—if he was coming—” - -“Put in-shore—like enough,” responded Uncle William. - -The men gathered about the fire, squatting on the sand or sitting on -boxes and kegs.... The fire was dying down now, but no one rose to throw -on fuel.... The girl wandered to the water’s edge and stood listening. -The little waves touched her feet, but she did not draw back... Glances, -by the fire, sought her and looked away. A dense stillness had settled -on them—only the little moving waves broke it, as they ran up and ran -back.... A muffled creak out of the dark, like the whisper of a -sail turning, half-asleep—Then the rattle of cords, and a voice that -laughed—“A-hoy!” The mist was still again, and then the call, coming -through its blankness, “A-hoy! Ship ahoy!” - -The mist parted and the boat came gliding through—her lights little -points in the night—Slowly the mists lifted—rolling up, like great -curtains into the darker night. A soft light that was not of moon or -stars grew about them—The fire had died out and only the gentle light -shone everywhere and through it the dark boat, seeming motionless, crept -softly in. - - - - -XXV - -THE group on the beach went swiftly toward the dock, Uncle William’s -lantern leading the way and swinging toward the end. He leaned over -toward the boat in the mysterious light, “What ’d you ketch, Georgie?” - -The young man looked up and a rope swirled through the -air—“Twenty-six-seven barrel,” he said easily. - -A shout went up from the dock, broken sounds, bits of scoffing disbelief -that piled down into the boat and shouted back and made a marvel of the -catch. - -Uncle William, with his big smile, moved back along the wharf—looking -for someone.... He went toward the beach, swinging his lantern—far in -the distance, towards Andy’s, something flitted, and paused, and went -on, and drifted past the horizon, out of sight. Uncle William’s eye -followed it, smiling. “Cur’us the way women is—running after ye, one -minute—till you’re most scared—and then.”... He waved his lantern at the -misty, moonlit hill, where the little figure flitted toward the sky. -He shook his head.... Out at the end of the wharf there was calling and -creaking, and the thumping of barrels and blocks of ice. Uncle William -watched them a minute—then he turned toward the cliff. “What he ’ll need -more ’n anything’s a good hot meal,” he said. He climbed to the little -house and opened the door cautiously. Bodet, across the room, glanced at -him. “He’s come,” he said. - -“Yes, he’s come.” Uncle William bustled about, getting out the kettle. -“I thought mebbe you ’d be in bed.” He placed the kettle on the stove -and went over to the cupboard. - -“In bed?” Bodet laughed—“I came up to get my coat. I don’t go to bed -tonight—not while things are stirring down there.” - -Uncle William turned his head to listen—Sounds of thumping came up -faintly. “‘Tis interesting,” he said. “The’s times when it seems’s if -more things was happening on this island than anywheres in the world—big -things, you know.... Where do you s’pose Celia put that fish?” He peered -under a bowl and brought out a piece of pie and looked at it fondly and -set it on the table and went back. - -“You might look down cellar,” suggested Bodet. - -With a sigh, Uncle William took up his lantern, and lifted a trap door -in the floor. “I most hoped it wa ’n’t down cellar,” he said. He put -his foot on the steep ladder and disappeared in inches.... He emerged -triumphant. “The’s quite a lot o’ things down there—I didn’t know where -she kep’ ’em.” - -“Just as lief you didn’t,” said Bodet. - -Uncle William chuckled. “She looks after me putty well. I don’t believe -I’ve over e’t once since she come!” He surveyed the table. - -“You going to make coffee?” asked Bodet. - -Uncle William looked at him. “You ’d like some, wouldn’t you, Benjy?” - -“I shouldn’t object,” said Bodet, “—if you’re making it.” - -“Well, I might’s well make some—’twon’t take long—if you ’ll go fetch a -pail of water.” - -Benjy laughed and took up the pail. Uncle William watched him -benignantly. “—And you might kind o’ holler to George—tell him to come -up when he’s done.” - -“All right.” Bodet departed with his pail and Uncle William pottered -about, singing a little, a kind of rolling chant, and grinding -coffee—measuring it with careful eye.... “She couldn’t ’a’ run faster -if the ’d been snakes after her.” He chuckled into the coffee pot and -looked up—Benjy had come in. “He says he ’ll be right up,” he said, -finding a place for his pail on the sink. - -“I’d better hurry,” said Uncle William. He made coffee and cut bread and -served the fish, with accustomed hand. “The’s suthin’ about cooking your -own things,” he said, “I do’ ’no’ what ’t is—Hallo, George!” he looked -up. “Come right in. We’re all ready for ye.” - -They drew up to the table and Uncle William beamed on them. “Seems like -old times, don’t it!—Help yourself, George—You made a putty big catch—!” - -“Pretty fair,” said the young man with a twinkle. - -“What ’ll they figger up?” asked Uncle William. - -“Twenty-nine barrel—on ice—” responded Manning. - -Uncle William’s eye sought Bodet. “That ’ll give you two thousand -dollar—putty near—?” - -“I’m counting on twenty-three hundred—if I take them over myself.” - -“When are you coming back?” asked Bodet quickly. - -The young man turned to him—“Back here?” - -“Back to my house?” - -“You can’t have him yet awhile,” said William. - -Bodet shrugged his shoulders. “Gunnion’s a fool!” he said. - -“Well—I do’ ’no’ ’s I’d say that.” Uncle William considered—“He’s -colorblind, mebbe, but he’s got sense.” - -Benjy looked at him—“Do you mean to tell me that man can’t tell color?” -he said sternly. - -“He can tell some colors,” said Uncle William, “I forget just which they -be—but if you happen to strike ’em, he can tell ’em—good as anybody.” - -“I didn’t happen to strike them,” said Bodet dryly—“I want you,” he -said. He was looking at George. - -Uncle William leaned back in his chair. “You comin’ back, Georgie?” he -asked. - -“Give me three more days and I’m with you,” said the young man. He -rose and took up his hat. “I’m off now—Thank you for the supper, Uncle -William.” He was gone and they heard his leaping feet on the rocky path. - -Uncle William looked at Bodet. “I reckon you better let him go, Benjy?” - -“I don’t see that I have any choice in the matter,” said Bodet. He -had pushed back from the table and was looking about him, a little -fretfully. “We sha ’n’t get done by Christmas—the rate we’re going now,” -he added. - -Uncle William looked at him. “What makes you in such a hurry, Benjy—?” - -“Hurry!—Christmas—!” said Benjy. There was a little sniff in the air. - -“What you going to do with your house when you get it done!” asked Uncle -William casually. - -Benjy stared at him. “I’m going to live in it,” he said with emphasis. -“—Providence permitting.” - -“I’ve been kind o’ thinking about that,” said Uncle William slowly, -“—whilst you’ve been hurrying—Seems to me maybe ’twon’t be near so -much fun living in your house as ’tis building.... I’ve got a sight of -comfort out of building your house,” he added gently. - -Bodet looked at him. “You ’d get comfort out of an earthquake, William.” - -“They’re interesting,” admitted Uncle William, “I’ve been in ’em—three -of ’em—little ones, you know.” He gazed before him. - -“I’d rather be in three quakes—three big ones—than build on this -Island,” said Bodet firmly. - -Uncle William’s gaze broke. He pushed up his spectacles and leaned -forward. “That’s just where ’tis, Benjy. It’s different—on the Island. -When you’ve lived here a spell, you don’t want to finish things up -lickety-cut, and then set down and look at the water.... You kind o’ -spin ’em out and talk about ’em—paint one end, mebbe, and go out fishin’ -or suthin’—not paint the other for fo-five months, like enough—not ever -paint it.” He beamed on him. - -Bodet moved restlessly. “Did you ever do any painting with Gunnion!” he -demanded. - -Uncle William’s smile deepened. “I’ve painted with him—yes... ’tis kind -o’ fiddlin’ work, painting with Jim Gunnion.” He pushed back the dishes -and rested his arms on the table—“This is the way I see it, Benjy.... I -woke up the other night—along in the night—and got to thinkin’ about it. -We ’d have a real good time buildin’ your house if you wa ’n’t so -kind o’ pestered in your mind. You see—the’s you and me and George -and Gunnion—and Andy some days—and we could visit along whilst we was -working—have real good times.... Like enough the boys ’d sing some—they -most al’ays do sing when they’re building on the Island—Sounds nice, -when you’re out on the water to hear ’em—two or three hammers goin’, -and singin’... I don’t believe they’ve done much singin’ on your house, -Benjy?” He looked at him inquiringly. - -“I don’t believe they have,” said Bodet. - -His face was thoughtful. “They might have got along faster if they had -sung,” he added. He looked up with a little smile. - -Uncle William nodded. “I do’ ’no’s they ’d ’a’ got along any faster—but -you ’d ’a’ liked buildin’ better. The’s suthin’ about it—” Uncle William -gazed about the little red room—“suthin’ about the Island—when you’re -settin’ up nights and the wind’s a-screeching and howling and the waves -poundin’, down on the beach.... You get to thinking about how snug the -boys made her, and you kind o’ remember ’em, up on the roof, and how the -sun kept shining and the sou’-west wind blowing and the boys singing.... -It all seems different, somehow.” Uncle William’s gaze dwelt on it. - -Bodet took up his hat. “I think I’ll go down to the beach,” he said -soberly. - -Uncle William’s eye followed him. - -“You don’t think I’m scoldin’ ye, Benjy, do you?” - -Bodet paused beside him and laid a hand on the great shoulder. “I’d -rather have you scold me, William, than have any other man I know praise -me.” - -Uncle William’s mouth remained open a little and the smile played about -it. “I do’ ’no’ why you say that, Benjy. I ain’t any different from -anybody—’cept’t I’m fond of ye,” he added. - -“You’re fond of everybody,” declared Bodet laughing. - -Uncle William’s face grew guilty. “There’s Harr’et,” he said slowly. -“Some days I can’t even abide Harr’et!” - - - - -XXVI - -BODET had taken largely to sitting about on nail-kegs, listening to the -men talk and joining in now and then.... The little fretted look had -left his eyes, and his voice when he spoke had a quiet note. - -“You’re doin’ fine, Benjy!” Uncle William confided to him one morning. -It was the week before Christmas. A fire had been built in the big -living-room and the men had gathered about it, talking and laughing -and thawing out. A fierce wind from the east was blowing and fine sleet -drove against the windows. The room had a homelike sense—shut in from -the storm. - -“It’s a great thing to have building goin’ on, a day like this—when -the’s a big storm from the east,” said Uncle William cheerfully. “If -’tw’an’t for the building, you might not have a soul in to see you all -day.” He glanced complacently at the group about the fire. - -“Costs me twelve-fifty a day,” said Bodet dryly. - -“Wuth it, ain’t it?” said Uncle William, “I do’ ’no’ what money’s for -if ye can’t be happy with it....” He glanced affectionately at the quiet -face opposite him. “You’re getting happy every day, Benjy.... I do’ -’no’s I ever see anybody get along as fast as you do—gettin’ happy.” - -The tall man laughed out. “It’s a choice between that and everlasting -misery—on your old Island,” he said. - -“Yes, I guess ’tis.” Uncle William’s voice was contented. - -The group about the fire broke up and moved off. Uncle William’s eye -followed them—“They’re going to work now. You ’ll get quite a piece done -today—” He came back to the fire. “I was thinking—how ’d it do to have -dinner up here!” He was looking about the room. - -Bodet’s glance followed his—“Who ’ll cook it?” he said. - -“We could send for Celia,” said Uncle William. “Gunnion’s team’s out in -the shed—he didn’t unhitch. We could send down, easy enough, and fetch -her up—dinner and all—and she could cook it out in your kitchen—” Uncle -William beamed. “You ’d like that, wouldn’t ye?” - -“It’s not a bad idea—I’ll tell Gunnion to drive down and get her.” - -Uncle William laid a hand on his arm. “I reckon you ’d better let George -fetch her up,” he said. - -“I can’t spare him,” said Bodet decisively. “Gunnion can drive back and -forth all day if he wants to—” Uncle William got in his way, “I guess -you better let George go, Benjy—he won’t be no time driving down there -and back.” - -With a little smile, Bodet yielded the point and Uncle William rolled -off to find George Manning and send him out into the storm. - -“You tell her to wrap up good,” he called into the sleet... “and you -see she’s tucked in, George, and tell her to bring plenty of salt and -pep-p-er.” The last word was whirled apart by wind, and Uncle William -retired into the house, a deep smile on his face. - -Within an hour Celia was there, little beading moisture on the bobbing -curls, and the pink in her cheeks like a rose—the kind that grows wild -and red among the rocks. Uncle William looked at her approvingly. “Did -you good to get out a spell, didn’t it?” he said kindly. - -“I didn’t know you were worrying about my health—” She shook the little -curls. “I thought you were hungry.” - -“Well, I wa ’n’t—not altogether,” Uncle William’s face was placid, -“—but I wouldn’t ’a’ wanted you to get cold—I guess George tucked you in -pretty good—” - -“I tucked myself in,” she said. “Have you got a fire made for me?” - -“Everything’s all ready, Celia.” Uncle William led her out to the tiny -kitchen, tiled in white and fitted with all the contrivances for skill -and swiftness. She stood looking about her—the little color in her face. -“Well, this is a kitchen!” she said. She drew a deep breath. - -Uncle William chuckled. “I knew you ’d like it. You see you can stand -right here in the middle and throw things. ’Twouldn’t suit me so well—” -he said reflectively. “I like to roll around more—but this is about -right for you, Celia.” He looked at her. - -“Just right,” she said emphatically—“But there isn’t room for two—is -there?” She looked at him and he retired, chuckling, while she examined -the range, taking off lids and peeking into the oven.... George Manning -appeared in the doorway. “Uncle William told me to ask you if there’s -anything you want?” he said, looking about the shining little room. - -Celia whisked her apron from the basket and put it on. “You can tell him -there isn’t a thing I need—except to be left alone,” she added severely, -“and I just told him that.” - -The young man withdrew—a heavy color rising in his face. - -“She didn’t want anything, did she?” said Uncle William casually. - -“No.” Manning took up his plane and attacked a piece of board screwed to -the bench. Uncle William watched the long, even lunge of the plane and -the set of the square shoulders. He moved discreetly away. - -In her kitchen, Celia spread the contents of the basket on the white -shelf, and settled to her work—like a bird to its nest.... Out in -the rooms beyond—amid the swirl of planes and the smell of paint and -shavings and clean, fresh wood, they heard a voice singing softly to -itself... and against the windows the sleet dashed itself and broke, and -the great storm from the east gathered. By and by Uncle William looked -into the kitchen. “You couldn’t just go out in the other room, Celia, -and fetch me my coat, could ye?” He was standing in his shirt sleeves, -looking at her kindly. - -She glanced up from her work and paused, “No, Mr. Benslow, -I couldn’t—and I do wish you ’d stop acting so.... You’re -just—ridiculous!” She lifted a pie and whisked it into the oven and -Uncle William retired. - -He went for his coat himself and put it on, shrugging his great -shoulders comfortably down into it—“If they want to act like that, they -’ll have to get along best way they can,” he muttered to himself. - -His face resumed its calm and he strolled from room to room, giving -advice and enjoying life. “I do like a big, comfortable storm like -this,” he said, standing at the window and looking out across the -black-stretched harbor. “Everything snug down there,” he waved his -hand to the bleakness, “—and everything going all right up here to your -house—going along putty good, that is,” he added conscientiously. - -Bodet came and stood beside him, looking out. “It suits me,” he said. “I -don’t want anything better than this—except to have the children back,” -he added after a minute. - -“They ’ll be’long byme-by, Benjy.” Uncle William’s gaze was on the -blackened water. “They ’ll be’long—and the little one with ’em.... You -ought to have somebody to keep house for you, Benjy—till they come—” -He turned and looked at him—“Want me to lend you Celia awhile?” he said -craftily, “—just whilst you’re finishing up? She likes it out there—” -he nodded to the kitchen. “She likes it fust-rate out there and I don’t -mind letting you have her—you can have her just as well as not.” He -studied the keen face opposite him. - -The man shook his head. “I don’t need her, William—I’ve sent for some -one—a Jap that I knew years ago. He took care of me over there when -I was with the Embassy. He said he ’d come to me any time I sent for -him—so I sent.” - -Uncle William beamed. “Now, ain’t that good! And it’s good his bein’ a -man!” he added thoughtfully. “I like women. I do’ ’no’ anybody’t I like -better ’n I do women—but sometimes they’re kind o’ trying.” His ear -listened to the clink of dishes from the kitchen. - -Bodet laughed—“Well, he’s a man—Jimmu Yoshitomo’s a man—though you don’t -think about it—either way.” - -Uncle William nodded. “I know what you mean, Benjy—they’ve got way past -that—Japs have—past being men and women—they’re just old, and kind o’ -human—and not just human either,” he added slowly, “I do’ ’no’ what -it is... but I feel different when they’re round—kind o’ sleepy, -somehow—the way I feel on the Island, still days—when the sun shines?” -He looked at him inquiringly. - -“That’s it. I’ve always meant to have a Jap when I had a home, and now I -have the home.” He looked about the big room contentedly. - -Celia came to the door and looked in. “I’m going to set the table in -here,” she announced, “—by the fire.” - -She set the table and called the men and returned to her kitchen. Uncle -William followed her with inquiring step—“You come and eat your dinner -out here with the rest of us, Celia, whilst it’s hot,” he commanded. - -“I’ve got things to do—I can’t be bothered to eat now.” She shut the -door on him. - -Uncle William returned to the living-room with subdued face, but when he -saw the group at table and the leaping fire and the plates and piles of -steaming food, his face grew round again and he smiled. “Does seem good, -don’t it?” He sat down, helping himself to potato and salt and butter. -“The’s suthin’ about eatin’—that’s different,” he said. “—You can’t have -a home without you eat in it.... I’ve seen folks try it—eatin’ one place -and livin’ another, and ’twa ’n’t home. They seemed kind o’ stayin’ -round—not livin’ anywheres. If I was a young man, the fust thing I’d do -’d be to have a home.” His eyes looked over Manning’s head, into space, -and he chewed slowly. - -Manning ignored it. “Mr. Bodet says he’s going to have a Jap keep house -for him,” he said to the table in general. Andy looked up quickly. “I -wouldn’t have one of them things around.” - -“I do’ ’no’ why,” said Uncle William, “They’re nice little folks.” - -“They’re different,” said Andy. - -“Some places you couldn’t send for one that way,” said Manning. “They -’d call it ’contract labor’ and send him back pretty quick where he came -from.” - -“That’s what I’d do—’pretty quick.’.rdquo; said Andy. - -“Now, what makes you talk like that, Andy,” said Uncle William. “You -ain’t ever see one.” - -“They ’ll work for nothing—and live on dirt,” said Andy glibly. - -“I guess you didn’t ever see how they live, did you, Andy?” said Uncle -William. His eyes were on something now and they smiled to it. “I do’ -’no’s I could just make you see it—if you wa ’n’t ever there—But they’re -about the nicest little houses you ever see—and clean—You feel kind o’ -’fraid to step in ’em, they’re so clean and fixed-up.... I do’ ’no’ ’s I -ever feel so big and clutterin’ as I do times ’t I’m in Japan,” he said -reflectively. “Seem’s if there ’d have to be a lot done to me ’fore -I was pared down fit to live in Japan.... Nice ways, too—bowin’ and -ridiculous, like monkeys, maybe,—but doin’ things quicker ’n Jack -Ro’binson.” - -“They ’ll work for nothin’,” muttered Andy. - -Uncle William turned and regarded him over his spectacles—“If anybody -wants to do my work for nothin’, I do’ ’no’ why I should hinder ’em,” -he said kindly. “They can come on to the Island and do my gardenin’ -all they want to. It don’t hurt my feelin’s any to see ’em digging.” He -waved his hand out to where the storm drove—“Why we should shove ’em off -the edge when they’re just aching to do our work for us, is what I -can’t see. I never see the time yet when the’ wa ’n’t work enough to go -round.” - -Andy shifted uneasily in his chair. - -“—The’s too much!” said Uncle William with conviction. - -“I guess we ’d better be doing a little of it,” laughed Manning. He got -up from the table and went toward the other room... and Uncle William’s -eye came back from Japan and followed him hopefully. - -But the young man passed the kitchen door without a glance. Uncle -William sighed and got up from the table. “You make yourself ridiculous -talking about foreign folks, Andy—folks ’t you ain’t ever seen,” he -said severely. The sound of the hammers came through the open door and -Celia’s voice, singing gently to itself.... Outside, the rain roared -hoarse, running across the moor and blotting out the sky and the boats -tugging at anchor below. - - - - -XXVII - -IN March Jimmu Yoshitomo arrived and, soon after him, a cablegram from -Alan and Sergia. “Hurray!” Uncle William leaned out of the window, -waving it, “It’s come, Benjy—Didn’t I tell you it ’d come!” Bodet -hurried up and took it from him, reading it aloud, Uncle William leaning -over him— - -“Wilhelmina Bodet Woodworth and Mother both doing well.” - -Uncle William leaned out further, reading it over his shoulder. -“Wilhelmina Bodet—Kind o’ queer, ain’t it, Benjy?” - -“It’s a girl—and she’s named for you,” said Bodet proudly. - -“Why, so ’t is—Willie-Meeny.” Uncle William regarded the paper fondly. -“—and it’s a girl, you think, do you, Benjy?... I’m glad it’s a girl. I -al’ays like little girls—they have ways with ’em.” He took the paper and -handled it tenderly—turning it over and looking at it as if something -further might crop up. “Jest think how it come to us, Benjy—scootin’ -round the world—’Twa ’n’t twenty-four hours old and here ’tis—and we -knowin’ all about it—and seeing her lying there, all kind o’ quiet, and -the little one—and folks steppin’ around soft and doin’ things.... I -reckon that’s what the Lord made ’em for—” He held off the telegram and -looked at it—“so ’s ’t we could be happy everywheres—seeing folks all -in a minute—Seems like all one fam’ly. You don’t need to travel—just sit -still and look.” - -“There’s considerable travel going on still—” said Bodet smiling. He -was looking out across the harbor, to the world of steamboat lines and -railroads and automobiles threading the earth off there. “People don’t -sit still a great deal,” he said. “There’s quite a lot of machinery -humming.” His hand motioned from the top of the world where they stood, -off to the sun-lit space below. - -Uncle William nodded, looking at it thoughtfully. “I’ve thought about -’em—when I’ve been sailin’—all them machines. I reckon they’re made for -folks that can’t travel in their minds—don’t know how—it kind o’ makes -feet and legs for ’em so ’s ’t they can get around faster. They feel -sort o’ empty in their minds, and lonesome, like enough, and then they -take a train and go somewheres—or a toboggan slide, or suthin’, and they -feel better—Don’t you reckon that’s the way ’tis, Benjy?” He looked at -him hopefully. - -“I shouldn’t wonder at all,” said Bodet—“There ought to be some excuse -for clatter.”... The Japanese servant appeared around the corner of the -house, moving a mysterious, respectful hand and Bodet joined him. - -Uncle William looked at them a minute. Then he tucked the telegram in -his pocket. “Guess I’ll go tell folks about it,” he said. - -Jimmu Yoshitomo took possession of Bodet and his belongings as -thoroughly as Celia had taken possession of Uncle William—though with -possibly a little less flurry. He made a little garden for him out -by the house, and raised flowers and vegetables and planted flowers -alongside the house and among the rocks—and found a sheltered corner -where wisteria would live through the winter—if carefully protected. - -By September the wisteria had sent great shoots against the house, and -the flowers among the rocks were a brilliant mass of bloom. The Japanese -moved among them like a dusky blossom in white coat and trousers—his -century-old face turned always toward Bodet and his needs. - -Andy, coming up the road, regarded him with disfavor—“Monkey man and -monkey clo’es,” he said scornfully. - -“Benjy takes a sight o’ comfort with him,” responded William. - -They made their way toward the house, and Jimmu Yoshitomo approached -from the garden, bowing low. - -Uncle William bowed low in return. Andy remained stiffly erect, detached -from all these things. - -“Don’t you stop workin’, Jimmie Yosh,” said Uncle William kindly—“We’re -just goin’ to set ’round a spell.” They went on toward the house and -Jimmu Yoshitomo returned to his flowers. - -Inside, the house was a bit of tropic-land that had floated over seas, -and lighted on the Island. Colors in the old rugs glowed dully, and -little gleams of metal and glass caught the light and played with it. -The tiny kitchen was a white-set gem, and through the long vista of the -living-room doors there were hints of the art gallery and a scattered -horde of pictures. - -“Like enough he’s in there,” said William. - -The gallery was the only room in the house that had not been put in -order. Even Sergia’s and Alan’s rooms were ready—the beds made and -a little basket cradle swinging in the apple-wood frame that George -Manning had made for it—in his off hours. - -Uncle William could never pass the door without looking in. He peeked in -now, on tiptoe, and withdrew. - -“Looks nice, don’t it?” he confided to Andy. - -“Kind o’ odd,” admitted Andy. - -They stood in the door of the gallery and looked in on its emptiness. -Pictures stood on the floor and on boxes and chairs. Some of the boxes -were still unopened—and only a small part of the pictures taken out had -been hung up. - -Uncle William looked around him with pleased eyes. “He’s got some new -ones out, Andy.” - -“Uh-huh.” Andy bent over and peered at one—a little behind the others. -He straightened himself quickly and shut his eyes. “They ain’t fit to -look at,” he said. - -Uncle William bent over and drew the picture out and regarded it with -interest. He set it against a box and stood off and looked at it, and -looked at it again. “She’s dreadful pretty, ain’t she, Andy?” - -Andy opened his eye a crack and withdrew it. “She ain’t decent,” he said -firmly. - -“You can set with your back to it, Andy,” said Uncle William kindly. -“You don’t need to go stun-blind—not to see it.” - -“They won’t let him have it on the Island,” said Andy. He sat down and -glared at the picture of an innocent cow—of the Dutch school. - -“Well, I do’ ’no’, Andy.” Uncle William studied the picture with lenient -eyes. “She’s kind o’ young and pretty—The’ ain’t much about this climate -in it—” He glanced casually up at the glass roof above them. “Come along -winter, now—when the winds get to shrieking and blowing up there—it ’ll -seem kind o’ queer to see her standin’ on a hank—like that—all ready to -jump in so, won’t it?” - -Andy turned his head a little and craned his neck. - -“I’ve been in countries,” went on Uncle William, “where that ’d seem -putty good—Italy, now—best kind of place—warm and summery always—year -’round. Seems ’s if in this climate we ’d ought to paint furs and woolen -goods more. I don’t suppose Benjy knew where he was going to hang his -pictures when he bought ’em—just gathered ’em up most anywheres—without -thinkin’ how they ’d look hung up.” - -“He’s coming,” said Andy. He wheeled about on his box. - -The man stood in the doorway, looking at them with pleased eyes. “I -thought I should find you here.” The glasses dangled from their long -chain and he swung them a little, smiling.... “What do you think is down -in the harbor?” he said quietly— - -Uncle William got to his feet—“Hev they come, Benjy?” - -“Looks like it,” said the man. “If I know my own yacht—she’s just -dropped anchor off the Island.” - -Uncle William cast a quick glance at the glass roof overhead. - -“You can’t see anything there,” said Bodet smiling. “Come on out.” - -They went quickly from the house—out to the edge of the cliff. Beneath -the cliff, close to the Jennie, a big white boat swung at anchor, and on -the deck a man and woman stood looking up to the Island. - -“She’s got it with her, Benjy!” said Uncle William. He leaned over the -cliff. Little white garments in the woman’s arms fluttered softly. - -The woman looked up and saw them and raised the child high in her arms, -lifting it to them in the shining harbor light. - - - - -XXVIII - -THEY were sitting about the fire-place in the big living-room, and a -fire burned briskly for the cool September morning. In front of the -fire, on a great rug, Wilhelmina Bodet Woodworth, fresh from her bath, -gurgled and reached out cooing hands to the fire. Her language could not -be understood—not even by the dusky Jimmu Yoshitomo, who came and stood -in the doorway and looked in with unfathomable eyes. But the words were -very pointed and sweet and quick and had little laughs and chuckles -behind them—all about things she used to know.... By and by—when she -had learned proper ones, she would forget the things she used to know—or -remember them only in her dreams, or some day when she met a stranger -in the street—and half stopped and went on—listening to the little bells -that were ringing somewhere—far off.... She lunged toward the fire and -fell afoul of her toes and laughed and seized them and gazed at them -intently. - -Uncle William, a hand on either knee—gazed in rapt content. “She’s about -the littlest and the nicest—” he said, “I didn’t reckon she ’d be like -that.” - -He looked at Bodet for sympathy. Benjy smiled and swung the long glasses -playfully toward the rug.... The person on the rug regarded them a -minute—then she adjusted her muscles and made a little hitching motion -toward the glasses—they were round and they glittered and went back and -forth—and ought to be stopped.... She reached up a hand and laughed and -toppled over—and looked up and saw Andy’s grin somewhere.... For a long -minute she gazed back at it—then she went on hands and knees across the -rug—flying from fate. - -Sergia reached down and gathered her up, smoothing the white dress. “I -put her into short clothes a week ago,” she said proudly.... - -“She couldn’t stan’ up a little now, Sergia, could she!” suggested Uncle -William. - -“Never!” Sergia looked at him and patted the round legs. “She won’t walk -for ten weeks probably,” she said kindly. - -Uncle William’s face had fallen a little. “She ’ll be quite a spell -gettin’ down to my house,” he said wistfully. - -“I’ll bring her tomorrow.” The baby gurgled and reached out fat hands -and Uncle William bent forward. - -“Kind o’ takes to me!” he said. He held out tentative hands, waggling -the fingers, and the child looked at them gravely, and leaned forward -a little, and broke into glee as Uncle William seized her and swung her -toward the ceiling. - -“She’s not afraid of you,” said Sergia proudly. - -“Afraid of me!... I reckon she couldn’t be afraid of Uncle William—!” -There was something a little misty behind the big spectacles... the blue -eyes looked out at the child from forgotten seas. She grasped the tufts -of beard and tugged at them, rocking hard, and making remarks to them. - -Uncle William smiled in triumph and seized the hand. “I reckon I might -as well take her down to my house,” he said. “She’s got to learn the way -sometime.” - -Sergia’s face was a little alarmed—“You couldn’t take care of her.” - -“I don’t know why,” said Uncle William, “I reckon I can take all the -care she needs—She don’t need any entertainin’.” He gazed at her fondly -and chucked her a little. - -“She has to be fed,” said Sergia. - -“I’ll tend to feedin’ her myself,” said Uncle William, “Nobody ever -starved—to my house. You got a little bunnet for her somewheres?” He put -his big hand on the shining head. - -Sergia looked at them reflectively. “She has to have special milk, you -know—?” - -“I get mine to Andy’s,” said Uncle William. “It’s just as special as -any, ain’t it—Andy’s milk?” - -Sergia smiled a little. “It isn’t that—It has to be prepared—sterilized, -you know.” - -Uncle William looked at her sympathetically—“Now, that’s too bad—and she -looks so healthy, too!” He held her off, and looked at her, and -danced her a little as an experiment—and broke her all up into little -laughs.... He chuckled softly. “I reckon I’ll hev to take her,” he said. - -“We-l-l—” Sergia went slowly toward the kitchen and returned with -a bottle in each hand. “I’m going to let you take her,” she said -magnanimously. She laid the bottles on the table and brought the little -bonnet and put it on, patting it and talking little, foolish words to -it—“There!” She stood off and looked at them, doubtfully. “You must feed -her as soon as you get there, and then again in three hours.” She held -out the bottles. - -“Yes’m.” Uncle William stored a bottle in either pocket—where they would -balance—and started toward the door. - -“You must bring her back before dinner, you know.” She was following -them protectingly, “—and I think I’ll come down by and by,” she added. - -Uncle William turned and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you worry a -mite, Sergia—There’s me and Celia to take care of her and we’re goin’ -to hev the best time ’t ever was—The’ can’t anything happen to her—not -whilst I’m round.” - -He strode proudly out of the door and over the rocks, the little figure -riding on his arm. The wind blowing softly across the Island touched the -small figure, and Uncle William snuggled it down in his arm, covering it -with a great hand. The head nestled to him and drowsed a little and fell -asleep. - -Uncle William came in the door with hushed step.... “Sh-h—?” he said. He -held up a warning finger. - -Celia stopped singing and came over and peeked at it. “Isn’t she a -dear!” She held out inviting arms. - -But Uncle William, proud in possession, marched across to the red lounge -and sat down. - -“Aren’t you going to put her down?” whispered Celia. - -Uncle William shook his head. “Not yet.” He sat very quiet and the fire -crackled in the stove—with the kettle humming a little—and leaving -off and beginning again.... Juno came across and leaped up. She rubbed -against him and waited a minute—then she purred towards his knee. Uncle -William watched her benignantly, holding very still. - -She purred softly, kneading her claws and talking.... Presently she -paused, with fixed gaze—her tail switched a question and was still. -She leaped down and went across and sat down, her back to the room, and -communed with space. - -Uncle William’s chuckle was very gentle.... “Juno’s makin’ up her mind,” -he said. - -Celia turned and looked at the grey back and laughed—“She’s jealous!” -she said in surprise. - -Uncle William nodded. “Women-folks.” - -She made no response and the room was still again. The baby stirred -and stretched an arm and saw Uncle William’s face bending over her—and -laughed. - -Celia came across and held out her arms—“Give her to me!” she said. - -She gathered in the child, with little inarticulate words, and Uncle -William watched her gravely. “You ain’t treated him right, Celia,” he -said gently. - -She looked at him over the baby’s frock—and her eyes had little stars in -them. - -“You ’d ought to go tell him, Celia, ’t you didn’t mean anything,” said -Uncle William, “—actin’ that way. He’s a good deal cut up—the way you’ve -been. - -“I don’t know where he is,” said Celia. She was smoothing the white -frock and smiling to Wilhelmina and whistling little tunes. - -“He’s down to the beach,” said Uncle William. “He come along down when -I did—You ain’t treated him right,” he said slowly.... “I like fam’lies, -and I like folks to have houses and fam’lies of their own—not be livin’ -round, Celia.” He looked at her kindly.... “She ’ll be kind of a fam’ly -to me—” He nodded to the little figure in her arms, “You needn’t worry a -mite about me, Celia.... You just wait till I get her suthin’ to eat and -then you can go.... George said he was going out sailing,” he added. - -He drew the bottle from his pocket and looked at it critically. - -“You ought to heat it,” said the girl quickly. - -“‘D you think so?” Uncle William held it out, “—Feels kind o’ warm, -don’t it—bein’ in my pocket sot Guess I’ll keep the other one there till -it’s time.” - -He seated himself and reached up for the baby.... Celia -hesitated—looking out at the shining water and the clear sun and the big -boat down below—“I don’t like to leave you alone,” she said. - -“I ain’t alone,” said Uncle William, “—and like enough Sergia ’ll be -here byme-by. She said suthin’ about it—You run along now, Celia. You -remember he kind o’ hinted he wanted to take you out today. You tell -him you ’ll go—tell him right off—fust thing—’fore anything has time to -happen—” he said severely. - -“Yes, sir.” She flitted from the door and he looked after her, a little -dubiously.... “I ’most ought to go with her,” he said. - -Then his eye fell on the gurgling face and he laughed. - -He sat looking about the room with contented gaze.... “Seems ’s if I had -most everything,” he said.... “Juno—” - -He called the name softly, but there was no response.... “Juno!” The -grey tail switched once on the floor and was still. “You come here to -me, Juno!”... Presently she got up and came over to him and jumped up -beside him. Uncle William put out a hand and stroked her. She settled -down with her gloomy green eyes.... The baby dozed tranquilly over her -bottle and finished it and sat up.... Juno’s back tightened—ready to -spring. “You lie still, Juno,” said Uncle William.... “Nice kitty!” -He smiled to the child and stroked the soft fur.... She reached out -a willing hand and drew it back—there was a sound as if there were a -small, muffled tornado in the room. Uncle William stroked the great back -steadily. “You behave, Juno,” he said sternly. The child reached out the -wavering hand again—and drew it back—and cooed softly.... There was a -moment’s breath—then the green-eyed Juno bowed her head, closing her -eyes, and allowed the small hand to travel down her grey back—and down -again—and again—and the red room was filled with little, happy laughs. - - -THE END - - - - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Happy Island, by Jennette Lee - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HAPPY ISLAND *** - -***** This file should be named 52700-0.txt or 52700-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/7/0/52700/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by Google Books - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/52700-0.zip b/old/52700-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 155d831..0000000 --- a/old/52700-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/52700-h.zip b/old/52700-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index d7b72f1..0000000 --- a/old/52700-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/52700-h/52700-h.htm b/old/52700-h/52700-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index d400ae3..0000000 --- a/old/52700-h/52700-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7982 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <title> - Happy Island, by Jennette Lee - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} - .x-small {font-size: 75%;} - .small {font-size: 85%;} - .large {font-size: 115%;} - .x-large {font-size: 130%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Happy Island, by Jennette Lee - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Happy Island - A New "Uncle William" Story - -Author: Jennette Lee - -Release Date: August 2, 2016 [EBook #52700] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HAPPY ISLAND *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by Google Books - - - - - - -</pre> - - - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - HAPPY ISLAND - </h1> - <h3> - A New “Uncle William” Story - </h3> - <h2> - By Jennette Lee - </h2> - <h4> - New York The Century Co. - </h4> - <h3> - 1911 - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0002.jpg" alt="0002 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0002.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0009.jpg" alt="0009 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0009.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0012.jpg" alt="0012 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0012.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <h3> - TO - </h3> - <h3> - GERALD STANLEY LEE - </h3> - <p class="indent15"> - “To make the young world move—He has eyes, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And ears, and he can read the sun.... - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - In tune with all the children who laugh best - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And longest through the sunshine, though far off - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Their laughter, and unheard.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>HAPPY ISLAND</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> I </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> III </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> IV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> V </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> IX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> X </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XIV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XVIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XIX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XXI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> XXII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> XXIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> XXIV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> XXVI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> XXVII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> XXVIII </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - HAPPY ISLAND - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - I - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE sunlight got in - Uncle William’s eyes. He looked up from the map spread on the table before - him. Then he got up slowly and crossed to the window and drew down the - turkey-red curtain—a deep glow filled the room. Juno, on the lounge, - stirred a little and stretched her daws, and drew them in and tucked her - head behind them and went on sleeping. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William returned to his map. His big finger found a dotted line and - followed it slowly up the table with little mumbles of words.... The room - was very still—only the faintest whisper of a breeze came across the - harbor—and Uncle William’s head bent over the map and traveled with - his finger.... “They ’d run in here, like enough, and...” - </p> - <p> - A shadow crossed the curtain and he looked up. - </p> - <p> - Andy was in the doorway, grinning—a bunch of lobsters dangling from - his hand, stretching frantic green legs into space. Andy looked down at - them. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William shook his head. “You ’ll get into trouble, Andy, carryin’ - ’em that way, right in broad daylight—you can put ’em out there - under the bucket—so ’s ’t the sun won’t hit ’em.” - </p> - <p> - Andy departed and the scraping of the bucket on the hard rock came - cautiously in the window.... Juno lifted her ear and flicked it and went - on dreaming. Uncle William returned to the map. - </p> - <p> - “What you huntin’ up?” asked Andy. He was looking in the window. - </p> - <p> - “‘D you put a stone on top the bucket?” - </p> - <p> - “Yep—What you lookin’ for?” asked Andy. - </p> - <p> - “I was just seein’ where they ’d got to..... They must be up along Battle - Harbor way, by this time—” - </p> - <p> - “You heard from ’em?” said Andy. He came in and sat down. - </p> - <p> - “We’ve had a letter to-day—me and Benjy—” - </p> - <p> - “Where’s <i>he</i> gone?” asked Andy. - </p> - <p> - “He’s up to <i>his</i> place—seein’ about some plans they’re makin’—they - bother him quite a consid’abul.” - </p> - <p> - Andy’s face showed no concern. “They goin’ to begin working next week?” he - said. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William pushed back the map a little and took off his spectacles.... - “They don’t just seem to know,” he said slowly, “Benjy wants it one way, - and the man that’s doin’ it—Ordway—he says it can’t be done—so - they’re kind o’ stuck. <i>I</i> wish he ’d have George Manning.” Uncle - William’s face expanded. “George ’d do it—and do it for him good. - You see, Benjy, he wants—” - </p> - <p> - “He ’ll want money,” said Andy shortly—“unless he looks out—keeping - that contractor and fussing about whether they ’ll have the roof two - inches up or two inches down—or some such matter as that—and - Harr’et feedin’ the contractor and getting board money right along whether - he works or don’t work.” - </p> - <p> - “I guess I’ll do the lobsters for supper,” said Uncle William. “Benjy - likes ’em.” He stirred about, gathering a few bits of kindling and paper - and striking a careful match. - </p> - <p> - Andy watched him with gloomy eye while he dived under the sink and brought - out a large kettle. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William lifted the tea kettle a little and drew it forward. “Most - full,” he said contentedly. “That’s good—and it ain’t fairly cooled - off since dinner—I didn’t wash any dishes this noon, you see.” - </p> - <p> - Andy’s eye roamed about the room. - </p> - <p> - “They’re tucked under the sink,” said Uncle William, “I don’t like ’em - clutterin’ round. I can’t seem to set so easy if I see ’em.” He opened the - sink door and peered in. “I guess there’s about enough left for a meal—You - goin’ to stay—?” He looked back hopefully over his shoulder. - </p> - <p> - Andy wriggled a little and looked at the door. “I didn’t say nothin’ to - Harr’et,” he said feebly. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I guess you better stay—” said Uncle William, “You don’t get - a chance to eat lobsters every day.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t get ’em any day,” said Andy gloomily, “She won’t cook ’em for me—and - she says she won’t have ’em scrawling round.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at him sympathetically. “Now, that’s too bad—it’s - just come on, ain’t it?” - </p> - <p> - Andy nodded. “She says it’s the law and she’s going to keep it, and we - hain’t had tip nor claw for much as a week now.” - </p> - <p> - “My... my!” Uncle William’s tongue clicked in sympathy. “Well, you stay - right where you be, Andy, and we ’ll have one good meal.” He brought in - the lobsters. “Seem’s if women keep the law a little harder ’n men—when - they <i>do</i> keep it,” he said thoughtfully, swashing the lobsters - happily down into the kettle. - </p> - <p> - Andy nodded. “She got scared ’bout the fish-warden last week. She says we - can’t pay no three hundred dollars for lobsters—and I do’ ’no’s we - can.” His eye was on the steam that rose genially about the lid of the - kettle. - </p> - <p> - “Well, there won’t be any three hundred this time,” said Uncle William, “—not - without the fish-warden’s legs are longer ’n my spy-glass. Seems kind o’ - mean business—being a warden,” he added kindly. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t mind his bein’ a warden,” said Andy, “if they ’d let us have Jim - Doshy. We ’d got used to him—knew his ways, and he gen ’lly sent us, - word anyhow—day or two beforehand—But this one—” He - looked at Uncle William with reproachful eye. “The’ wa ’n’t one of us - ready for him when he come.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William nodded. “I know—lively work wa ’n’t it?” - </p> - <p> - Andy grinned. “Lively—they was flyin’ round like hens with their - heads off—dumpin’ ’em out and scratchin’ ’em under and getting - things shipshape.” He grinned again. “I wa ’n’t to home, you know—I’d - gone off the Point—to haul a mess for dinner, and Harr’et had to run - a mile in the hot sun to yell at me to dump ’em out.” He drew a long - breath as he heaved the lobsters overboard and righted himself. - </p> - <p> - “Now, that ain’t right,” said Uncle William, “making Harr’et run in the - hot sun like that—all for them little squirming things,—and - ’tain’t reasonable. We ought to know how many lobsters we o’t to eat—much - as any fish-warden. Ain’t they <i>our</i> lobsters?” He shoved up his - glasses and looked at Andy kindly. - </p> - <p> - Andy’s eye was on the kettle. “You think they’re most done?” he said. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William took off the lid and peered in. The steam rose about his big - head like a halo and rolled away in light whiffs. Down on the beach they - could hear the washing of the little waves as the tide came up. Uncle - William’s face looked out of the steam, like a happy moon. “Just about—” - he said, “You run and see if Benjy’s anywheres in sight.” He lifted the - kettle and Andy got up stiffly and went to the door. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t see him nowheres,” he said indifferently. - </p> - <p> - “You can’t see him there, Andy. You got to go round the corner.” Uncle - William carried the kettle to the sink and Andy departed, reluctant—When - he returned the lobsters were on the middle of the table, red and - steaming, with their little white clouds over them. The map had been hung - on the wall and the table was scantily set—“There’s one spoon - apiece,” said Uncle William cheerfully, “—though I do’ ’no’s we need - spoons. I’m going to have a real good washin’ up after dinner—’D you - see him, Andy?” - </p> - <p> - “He’s comin’,” replied Andy—“up the road a piece.” - </p> - <p> - “He ’ll be right along then,” said Uncle William, “—if he don’t meet - somebody—that wants to advise him ’bout his house. I’d come home - round by the lots, if I was him, I tell him. It’s further—but he ’d - get here quicker. You sure ’t was him?” - </p> - <p> - “The’ ain’t anybody else got that kind o’ high-stepping walk, has the’.” - said Andy scornfully. - </p> - <p> - “I do’ ’no ’s the’ has,” said Uncle William. “You draw right up, Andy. He - ’ll be here any minute now.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - II - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>ENJAMIN BODET - stood in the doorway and looked in. He was tall and thin and distinguished—in - spite of his rough suit and slouch hat and the week’s growth of beard on - his thin cheeks and pointed chin. His eye fell on the steaming red mound - in the center of the table and his face lighted. “Lobsters!” he said. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William, who had been watching him, chuckled a little. “Andy’s - lobsters,” he said politely. - </p> - <p> - Andy shuffled in his chair. “They’re your claws, William—they’re on - your premises—” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes,” said Uncle William soothingly, “I know ’bout that. You just - eat all you want and I’ll pay the bill—when it comes in. You all - ready, Benjy?” - </p> - <p> - “All ready—and hungry for anything you’ve got—especially - lobster.” - </p> - <p> - They drew up to the table and reached out to the red pile—breaking - it down slowly.... Juno, from her lounge, came across and rubbed against - Uncle William’s big leg. Then she sat up. When Uncle William’s hand - reached down with casual motion, and a hard, red morsel, she snuffed at it - daintily before her teeth opened on it. Then she bent her head and growled - a little, and crouched over it, crushing it under her paw and moving her - tail in swift, restrained joy... to eat was good—but to hold it—there - under her paw—caught fast—and growl a little.... Up above - Uncle William rumbled on—about the weather and fishing and house - building and lobsters.... Presently he reached up and took down a - spy-glass and went to the window. The red curtain was up and the sun came - in with soft, side slants. Down below, the water of the harbor slowly - filled with dusk and reached away. Uncle William looked out across it - toward the west. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve been kind o’ watching her,” he said, “for some time—I guess - she’s goin’ by.” - </p> - <p> - Benjamin Bodet came and stood beside him, looking out. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William glanced at him affectionately as he handed him the glass. He - was not quite used—even yet—to having Benjy around. Sometimes - he waked in the night and remembered Benjy was there—before he heard - the sound of the waves on the beach or the wind coming across the moor - behind the house.... This sometimes gave him a feeling that perhaps it - might be heaven instead of Arichat... and it kept him from getting used to - Benjy’s presence in the house. - </p> - <p> - Andy, from his seat at the table, looked at them with grudging eye. “You - see anything?” he said. - </p> - <p> - “She’s running by,” said Uncle William. He came and sat down and looked - contentedly at the untidy table. “That was a pretty good meal, Andy.” - </p> - <p> - Andy nodded, without enthusiasm. “The last one I’ll have this season—like - as not,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you bring ’em up here any time and we ’ll help you out, Benjy and - me.” The tall man had come back from the window and he smiled down at - them. “I’ll do <i>my</i> share,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at him, as if fearing a little that he might vanish - in his thinness. “You set down, Benjy,” he said, “I’m going to clear the - table and then we ’ll get down the map—” - </p> - <p> - “Have you heard—?” asked the man quickly. - </p> - <p> - “It come today—while you was gone, and it’s to both of us,” said - Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - He held the pan of red shells in his hand, looking at it doubtfully. Juno, - with her back to the stove, licked her paw and rubbed it down her nose and - rubbed again—and licked it and rubbed again—in gentle rhythm. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William glanced at her with benignant eye. “She does set store by - lobster,” he said, “much as anybody I ever see. I guess I’ll save ’em for - her.” He moved toward the sink. - </p> - <p> - Andy’s eye followed him with disapproving glance. “I’d heave ’em out,” he - said. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t you worry, Andy, I’m goin’ to put ’em under the sink—way - back. The’ won’t no fish-warden get ’em in there. It’s much’s I can do to - find things myself—when they get under here—” He emerged from - the depths with serene face. “I see some things in there now, I’ve been - looking for quite a spell. Tomorrow I’m going to have a real good - clarin’-up time—You see!” - </p> - <p> - “I wanted you to go up to my place tomorrow,” said Bodet whimsically. “I - thought perhaps you could work that contractor around to let me have my - house the way I want it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I’ll go if you want me to,” said Uncle William placidly, “The - dishes can wait a spell—some of ’em can wait,” he added, with a - touch of conscience. - </p> - <p> - Benjamin smiled. “You might do them before we go.” - </p> - <p> - “And you could wipe,” said Uncle William cheerfully. - </p> - <p> - Benjamin’s face was perhaps a trifle less glowing than Uncle William’s, - but his assent was cheerful. “All right, William, I’ll do my part—You - help me with that contractor and I’ll wipe dishes for you—all day, - if you say so.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William regarded him thoughtfully. “You ought to have George Manning - to help you about your house, Benjy. He could do it for you—nice.” - </p> - <p> - “Manning?” Bodet looked at him with lifted eyebrows—“You mean that - boy—?” - </p> - <p> - “He ain’t a boy exactly, Benjy. He looks kind o’ young—not having - any whiskers, and chewing a piece of grass the way he does when he’s - thinking. But he’s old enough. He’s built a good many houses on the - Island, fust and last—much as eighteen or twenty, I should think, - counting barns—and hen-coops and fish-houses.” - </p> - <p> - Bodet smiled. “My house isn’t a hencoop, William.” - </p> - <p> - “I know, Benjy—it’s going to be a nice house—when you get it - started,” said William. - </p> - <p> - Bodet sighed and threw out an impatient hand. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at him sympathetically. “Does bother ye a good deal, - don’t it?—You might <i>talk</i> with George about it,” he added - hopefully, “‘Twon’t hurt any to talk to him—he’s chuck full of - ideas. He’s about the best man we’ve got on the Island, I guess,” he added - slowly. “The’ ain’t but one thing wrong about George.” - </p> - <p> - “What’s wrong with him!” asked Bodet with a little, skeptical smile. - </p> - <p> - “He ain’t married,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - Bodet laughed out. “Neither are you, William.” - </p> - <p> - “No, I ain’t married and you ain’t married. But that’s different—we’re - old men.” - </p> - <p> - “Just tottering around,” laughed Bodet. - </p> - <p> - “It ain’t the tottering, Benjy—It’s the hevin’ had your chance—and - lost it.... That’s what’s happened to us.” He was looking at him with - affectionate eyes, over the big spectacles. - </p> - <p> - Bodet nodded. “That’s what’s happened to us. And George Manning, I suppose—” - </p> - <p> - “George never <i>had</i> a chance,” said Uncle William thoughtfully.... “I - don’t mean that nobody would ’a’ had him. I guess the’ ain’t a girl on the - Island but what’s set her cap for George, one time or another—set it - kind o’ modest, you know. But George don’t see ’em. He just goes around - looking at the sky and things—kind o’ thinkin’ in his mind—might - bump right up against a girl and not know she was there—” Uncle - William chuckled. “I’ve talked to him about ’em,” he added conscientiously—“I’ve - told him, a good many times, how interestin’ they be—but it don’t - seem to do any good.” Uncle William sighed a little. - </p> - <p> - Bodet stood up, shaking himself. “Did you say there was a letter—?” - he suggested. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William blinked a little and took it from his pocket, regarding it - fondly. “You read it,” he said, “whilst I get down the map.” - </p> - <p> - Andy watched him, a little morosely, as he mounted a chair and reached for - the map on its nail—“When you two going to get a girl!” he said. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked down at him with open mouth. “Now that’s an idea!” he - said slowly. - </p> - <p> - “What’s an idea?” asked Andy. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s mouth closed firmly. “Nothin’—I didn’t mean nothin’, - I guess. I was just a-thinking.” He chuckled softly. “We’ve got a girl,” - he added kindly. “We heard from her yesterday.” He reached again to the - map. - </p> - <p> - “When’s she coming?” demanded Andy. - </p> - <p> - “Well—?” Uncle William climbed slowly from the chair with his map, - “She can’t <i>come</i>—exactly—” - </p> - <p> - Andy stared at him. “Then you ain’t got her, Willum—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, we’ve got her—and she wants to come—worst way. She’s - the one I told you about—down to New York?” He looked at Andy over - his spec-tades. “She’s a nice girl,” he added. His face held a deep glow. - “‘Bout the nicest girl you ever see, I reckon.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know her,” said Andy coldly. “Well, mebbe you forget—But I - remember well enough telling you about her one day—down to your - house—when Harr’et had gone fox-berrying—and you and me was - there alone, and we was makin’—” - </p> - <p> - “Like enough I do remember,” said Andy hastily. - </p> - <p> - “That’s the one,” said Uncle William, “the one I kind o’ helped to get - home from New York—and she ’d come—any day—if there was - a place to sleep. Benjy’s in the other room and I’m in this one—and - the’ ain’t any other—” His forehead wrinkled at the problem. “She’s - got to come—and she’s got to hev a place,” he said with decision. - </p> - <p> - “She could sleep down to my house,” said Andy. - </p> - <p> - “Why, so she could—She could sleep down to his house, Benjy,” said - Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - The tall man swung his glasses from his nose and looked at them—first - one and then the other. Then a smile came into his face. “The Lord bless - you, Andy,” he said, “I think I had come about to the end of my - dish-washing powers—” - </p> - <p> - “All you’ve done, was wipe ’em, Benjy,” said Uncle William anxiously. - </p> - <p> - “I know, William—and it’s all right—and I <i>liked</i> it!” - </p> - <p> - “You ’d pay a little suthin’,” suggested Andy. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, anything reasonable,” responded the tall man. “Now let’s see the - map.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - III - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HEY bent over the - table, following Uncle William’s finger. The room was filled with light - smoke from Uncle William’s pipe and the cigarette that Bodet held in his - fingers and whiffed from time to time. The dusk outside crept in and - mingled with the smoke. - </p> - <p> - “It’s along up here somewheres....” said Uncle William, peering at the map—“Here—! - Here it is!” He glued his finger to a tiny spot—“They stopped here, - they said—off St. Pierre, and then run along up through Placentia - Bay and stopped off two-three times, and back to St. Mary’s—kind o’ - edgin’ along—They struck a squall here—off Lance Point—and - that kep’ ’em back a spell—” - </p> - <p> - “The boat’s all right!” said Bodet quickly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, she’s all right, I guess. They didn’t say nothin’ about the boat. - They was writin’ about the scenery and about their feelings, and so on; - but I managed to make out their course—puttin’ this and that - together. Your boat’s all right, Benjy. She ’ll stand any weather they ’ll - get this time o’ year.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—she ’ll stand it—with good handling—” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you’ve got a captain knows his business.... They ’ll bring her - ’round to your back door some day, safe and sound.... You ain’t worryin’ - to have ’em back, Benjy?” - </p> - <p> - The other shook his head. “Not a bit—I’m contented here.” He gave a - little puff to the cigarette and wrinkled his eyes, smiling across the map - and dreaming a little. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s eyes were on his face, kindly and glad. The pipe in his - lips gave out a gentle volume of smoke and rumbled a little down below—“You - can’t find a much better place ’n this is, can you?” He moved his hand - toward the window where the dusk was coming in... and across the harbor - where the lights glowed faintly—like stars. - </p> - <p> - Benjy’s eye rested on them. “Best place in the world,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “We all like it,” said Uncle William, “Andy likes it, too—” - </p> - <p> - The green in Andy’s eye retreated a little—“I’d like to see some of - them other places,” he said.... “Now, that,” he shoved his finger at a - point on the map—“That’s the farthest north <i>I</i> ever went.” - Uncle William bent to it.... “Dead Man’s Point.” He chuckled a little. - “‘Tis kind o’ rough, Andy, ain’t it!” - </p> - <p> - “I’ve started times enough,” said Andy—“once for Labrador and once - in a whaler ’twas going way up—they said. Seem’s if we always got - stuck or got a cargo—or suthin’—before we’re fairly under way—and - had to turn around and come back.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William nodded. “You’ve had a hard time, Andy—and I do’ ’no’s - I’d risk taking you along <i>myself</i>—not if I wanted to get - anywhere.” - </p> - <p> - Andy grinned. “You’ve been,” he said. “You don’t care.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s eye swept the map and he laid his great hand on it - affectionately, spreading the fingers wide. “It does feel good to think - you’ve seen it,” he said, “But I’d rather be right here with you and Benjy - a-traveling <i>this</i> way—after them young things, that don’t know - where they’re sailing or what kind of waters they’re comin’ to—and - not trusting the Lord even—not fairly trustin’ him, so to speak—just - kind o’ thinkin’ of him as suthin’ to fall back on if a storm comes up—a - real hard one—kind of a tornado like.” - </p> - <p> - “She’s a good boat,” said the tall man. - </p> - <p> - “She’s all right, Benjy—and they’re nice children,” responded Uncle - William, “and I hope they won’t hurry a mite about getting round the - earth.... The rate they’re goin’ now—when they wrote—I reckon - it ’ll take just about twenty-five years,” he said reflectively.... “They - don’t say how far North they plan to make, but I kind o’ reckon they ’ll - cut across from here—from Battle Harbor to Disco, and then skirt - along down the Cape, and up,”... His finger followed the course with slow - touch and the smoke curled about his head with deep, contemplative puffs. - His eye ran back over the course and lingered on a bit of clear water to - the North. “It does seem a pity not to go up there—when they’re so - near,” he said regretfully, “and best kind of weather, too.”... His eye - grew dreamy—“It was along ’71, I sailed there—along with - Captain Hall—You know that last voyage of his? We had one eye on - whales and one on the Pole, I reckon... and the Polaris, she edged and - edged, up and up. Some days I didn’t know but she <i>would</i> strike the - Pole—run smack into it.... We ’d got up here through the Strait and - up Smith’s Sound... and on beyond—the farthest of anybody’t that - time—and Captain Hall, he was for pushing on—and all of ’em, - except Buddington—he was sailing master and that slow, cautious kind—no - sort o’ timber to go after the North Pole with—but he said we ’d - winter right there—’twas somewheres along in August then—and - we run back a little to a good place—and that’s where it got its - name now, ’Polaris Bay’—we was the ones that named it.” Uncle - William looked at it, with the pride of possession, and rubbed his finger - on it. “Well, we stayed there.... But Captain Hall—you couldn’t hold - him still, and he was all the time sledgin’ off, one way and another—to - see what the earth was doin’ up that way—and it run along into - October—the last of the month—It all seems like yesterday,” - said Uncle William slowly.... “I was a young fellow, you see—not - more ’n twenty-two-three, and I’d left Jennie down here, and gone up there—so’s - to make money faster.”—His eye traveled about the red room... and - came back to the map... “and there we was, settin’ down up there—waitin’ - for winter and not a whale in sight—and then, all of a sudden, - before you could say Jack Robinson—Captain Hall died.... There was - whisperin’s around among the crew about the way he was took and the Navy - went into it later—but nothin’ was proved... and Captain Buddington - wa’ n’t the kind of man you could stand up to—captain or sailin’ - master, or what, he ’d have his way... and we stayed there best part of a - year. Then he said we was goin’ home—I remember,’. if it was - yesterday, the day we got wind what he was plannin’ for. I’d been out off - from the boat all day.... and when I came in George Pelman, he whispered - to me we was goin’ home—and then, all in a minute, out there in the - snow, I see Jennie’s face looking to me and smilin’, and my eyes kind o’ - blurred—with the snow and all that—and that was the last time - I see her—” said Uncle William slowly. “She died that winter.... - When we got home, along in the spring, they told me she had waited—seems - ’s if she kind o’ <i>made</i> her body wait till I’d come—They said - it was like her spirit died out, faint, till it just wa ’n’t there.... So - that’s the way I come to be here alone... and it seemed pretty good when - Benjy come back so, one day, all out o’ nothin’—and there he was - standin’ in that door....” - </p> - <p> - The tall man went to the window and stood with his back to the room - looking out. When he turned about, his eyes were shining—like the - lights across the water. “It was like getting home,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,’.was home,” said Uncle William contentedly. “Of course, any place - where you happen to be is home,—but if there’s somebody there - waitin’ for ye and needin’ ye, it’s more homier than any of ’em.” Andy got - slowly to his feet. “Harr’et’s waitin’ for me,” he said, “and I might’s - well go—” He cast a lingering look at the table. “You boys going to - sit up all night, talking and gabbling!” - </p> - <p> - “Why, no, Andy. I do ’no ’s we ’ll light up,” responded Uncle William. “I - was thinkin’ of going down to look after the boats a little and then we - ’ll go to bed—like enough.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, good night,” said Andy, “I’ve got to go,” - </p> - <p> - “Good night, Andy.” They sat listening to his footfalls on the rocky path - below. “He’s a good boy,” said Uncle William. “He ’ll stan’ a lot—without - whimpering—but he don’t know it—no more ’n that cat there.” - </p> - <p> - Juno rose and stretched her back, yawning. Then she walked indifferently - to the door and passed out—as if a summons had come to her from the - night out there. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - IV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">U</span>NCLE WILLIAM - finished the last saucepan and carried it, with careful flourish, to the - stove, where the top was piled high with pots and kettles. He found a - place for the saucepan and deposited it with cautious touch. Then he stood - back and surveyed the topply pile with hopeful eye. - </p> - <p> - Benjamin, seated on a rock outside, was whistling softly. “You most ready, - William,” he called. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William glanced hastily toward the window, then his glance traveled - about the room. “Pretty near, Benjy,” he said. “You wait a minute whilst I - chuck two-three more things out o’ sight.” - </p> - <p> - Benjamin rose and stretched his long legs. The sun shone brilliantly and - the salt air was alive with the freshness of summer. He strolled to the - window and looked in.... Uncle William, on his knees by the red lounge, - was poking things under with swift, efficient touch. - </p> - <p> - He looked up and nodded. “Don’t you wait, Benjy. I’m most done. The’s just - two-three things got strayed around—” He gathered up a plate and - saucer, with the remnants of Juno’s supper, and carried them across to the - sink. He opened the cupboard door underneath and thrust them in.... “The’s - a <i>few</i> things left,” he said apologetically, “if I raked way in - under for ’em, mebbe. But we’ve got enough to run along—quite a - spell now.” He glanced affectionately at the stove and the rows of shining - cups and plates ranged on the shelf above the sink. - </p> - <p> - Benjamin’s eye followed the glance with a touch of amusement and a little - impatience, “Oh, come on, William. You ’d let things run a week and then - you ’d scrub all day—” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s face beamed. “That’s right, Benjy. That’s just the way I - like it—now, how ’d you know!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I have eyes,” said Benjamin dryly, “and I’ve been living with you a - month or so, you know.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s so, Benjy—and don’t it seem good!” Uncle William came to the - window and patted the thin hand resting on the sill. “I’m coming right - along, now, soon’s I get my apron off—” His fingers tugged at the - strings of the big oil cloth pattern that encompassed him. - </p> - <p> - Benjamin’s eye waited, impatient—“You ’ll get rid of all that fuss - when the new girl comes,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s mouth opened and looked at him. Then it closed and Uncle - William shook his head. “I’d clean forgot her,” he said slowly, “and if I - don’t send her word today, she can’t come for two weeks—nor four, - mebbe. The boats don’t run right.” He reached up to the clock for the pen - and bottle of ink that stood there. - </p> - <p> - Benjamin moved with restless indecision and Uncle William glanced at him. - “You run along, Benjy,” he said kindly, “That contractor ’ll be waiting - for you—” - </p> - <p> - “He’s <i>been</i> waiting,” said Benjy quickly, “—an hour at least.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes—I know. Don’t you wait—” Uncle William’s eye was on - the paper and he was mumbling words to the ink bottle.... “I’ll be—right - along—Benjy—sometime—” - </p> - <p> - The tall man turned from the window and strode over the rocks. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s face smoothed to its genial smile as the steps died away. - His fingers traced big, comfortable words on the paper and his head nodded - in a kind of cheerful, all-round assent while he wrote. The clock struck - ten and he looked up, blinking a little. His eyes strayed to the window - and he looked out. Then he got up and went across. After a minute he took - down the spy-glass and fixed it on a distant point. His face radiated in - little wrinkles of interest. “I do’ ’no’s I ever see Andy run like that—and - cross-lots, too—Harr’et wants suthin’—bad—like - enough.... My—my! He hadn’t ought to run like that!”... He bent from - the window. “Hello, Andy!—what you runnin’ for?” - </p> - <p> - Andy halted, panting—“<i>He’s come!</i>” he said. The words sank to - a whisper and he wheeled about, glaring at a man who was coming up the - path from the shore, trundling a bicycle before him. He was a young man, - with keen, quick glance and a look of determination. He glanced - indifferently at Andy and rapped sharply on the side of the door. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William came across with easy gait. “Good morning,” he said—looking - down from his height... - </p> - <p> - “You’re the owner of this house!” said the young man. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s eye traversed it kindly, “I reckon it belongs to me—yet - awhile. Will you come in—sir!” The figure towered still higher and - Uncle William’s presence exhaled dignity and welcome. - </p> - <p> - The young man stepped over the sill. Andy followed sulkily. - </p> - <p> - “Sit down, sir.” Uncle William’s hand motioned to the red lounge. - </p> - <p> - The stranger crossed and sat down, holding his hat in his hand and - glancing with quick eye about the little room. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William sat down opposite him, a hand on either knee, and looked at - him over large spectacles. - </p> - <p> - “I’m the new fish-warden,” said the young man—as if he answered a - polite question. - </p> - <p> - “I kind o’ reckoned you might be a fish-warden, or something like that,” - said Uncle William. “I’m glad to see you.” - </p> - <p> - The young man smiled a little. “You’re the first one that’s glad, I guess—” - The quick look had relaxed a little in his face. The warm, sunny room - seemed to reach out and surround him. - </p> - <p> - Juno, from her place on the lounge, leaped down and walked with deliberate - step across the room. She seated herself in the sunshine, with her back to - the company, and looked steadily into space. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s eye rested on her kindly. - </p> - <p> - “I’m looking for lobsters,” said the young man. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William nodded. “It’s a poor time of year for ’em,” he said, “—close - season, so.” - </p> - <p> - The man’s eyebrows lifted a little. - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t get your name, sir,” added Uncle William, leaning forward. - </p> - <p> - “My name is Mason,” said the young man. - </p> - <p> - “I’m glad to meet you, sir,” said Uncle William. He came across and held - out a big hand. “My name is Benslow—William Benslow.” - </p> - <p> - The young man took the hand, a little dazed, it might seem. “I knew it was - Benslow,” he said, “I inquired before I came up—down in the - village.” - </p> - <p> - “Now, did ye? That was kind in you!” Uncle William beamed on him and sat - down. “I ain’t ever had the fish-warden up here,” he said thoughtfully—“not - as I can remember. I’m real glad to see you.” - </p> - <p> - The young man nodded stiffly—a little color had come into his face—as - if he did not propose to be tampered with. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve thought a good deal about fish-wardens,” went on Uncle William - comfortably, crossing his legs, “when I’ve been out sailing and lobstering - and so on—’Seems’s if it must be kind o’ unpleasant business—knowing - likely enough folks don’t want to see you come sailin’ into a harbor—night - or day.” - </p> - <p> - The young man turned a little in his place, looking at him curiously. - </p> - <p> - “—And kind o’ havin’ to brace yourself,” went on Uncle William, “to - do your duty—feelin’, I suppose, as if there was spears always - reachin’ out from the shore and pinting at ye—to keep you off—sort - of?” - </p> - <p> - The young man stirred uneasily. “I don’t know that I ever thought about it - that way,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Like enough you didn’t,” said Uncle - </p> - <p> - William, “I do’ ’no ’s I’d ’a’ thought of it myself—only I’m al’ays - kind o’ possessed to know how folks feel inside—other folks, you - know—and one day, as I was comin’ in from lobsterin’, I says to - myself—’Supposin’, instead o’ bringing in these lobsters, nice and - comfortable, I was a fish-warden, a-sailin’ in to catch somebody, there on - the shore’—and then, all of a sudden, I seemed to see them spears, - hundreds of ’em, pointin’ right at me, kind of circle-like, from the - shore. There was a minute in that boat when I wouldn’t’ ’a’ known whether - it was you or me, and it felt uncomfortable—real uncomfortable,” - said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - Andy’s face held a wide, half-scared grin. - </p> - <p> - The young man looked at Uncle William curiously. “I could imagine things - like that—if I wanted to,” he said dryly. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William nodded. “I don’t doubt you could—a good deal better. - But I wouldn’t if I was you.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t intend to,” said the young man. He half rose from his seat. - </p> - <p> - “It’s cur’us, ain’t it,” said Uncle William, “Now, I suppose you’ve got a - family—a wife, like enough, and children—” - </p> - <p> - The young man’s hand sought an inside pocket, as if by instinct. Then it - dropped to his side. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William smiled and chuckled a little. “Now, I never thought you ’d - have pictures of ’em with you. But why shouldn’t yet Why shouldn’t a - fish-warden hev pictures of his wife and babies, same as other folks?” He - had turned to Andy, and sat, with spectacles pushed up on his forehead, - looking at him inquiringly. - </p> - <p> - “I do’ ’no’ why he shouldn’t,” said Andy feebly—but not as if - convinced. - </p> - <p> - “Of course you ’d have ’em,” said Uncle William, turning ’to the young - man, “And I like you all the better for it. I’d taken a liking to you - anyhow—before that.” - </p> - <p> - The face opposite him was non-committal. But there was a look of firmness - about the chin. - </p> - <p> - “I’d like to see ’em,” said Uncle William, “if you wouldn’t mind my seein’ - ’em.” The tone was full of interest and kindly hope. - </p> - <p> - The young man took out a small leather case and handed it to him, without - speaking. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William received it in his big, careful fingers, and adjusted his - glasses before he bent to it. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - Andy, from across the room, glared at her. - </p> - <p> - The young man’s eye had followed her with half-cynical smile. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked up from the leather case and pushed up his glasses. - “You’ve got a good wife, Mr. Mason.” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - The young man’s face broke a little. “I don’t doubt it,” he said. - </p> - <p> - 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—” - </p> - <p> - Andy’s chair scraped the floor with sudden sound. - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “Never mind that,” said the young man, and there was a little impatient - flick to the words, “I’ll begin wherever you say—” - </p> - <p> - “Why, <i>I</i> don’t mind,” said Uncle William kindly. “If <i>I</i> was - advising you, I should say, ’Don’t look <i>anywheres</i>.’.rdquo; - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Byme-by, Juno,” said Uncle William cheerfully. “She’s hungry, like - enough,” he said, turning to the fish-warden. - </p> - <p> - But the man had stooped and was lifting the cover of the red lounge. - </p> - <p> - “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—” - </p> - <p> - “You ’d better wring <i>her</i> neck,” said Andy between his set teeth. - </p> - <p> - “Why, Andy!—You don’t find anything there, Mr. Mason?” said Uncle - William. - </p> - <p> - The man emerged with red face. “I didn’t expect to,” he said—“But - it’s my business to look—” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it’s your <i>business</i>. That’s what I was sayin’ to myself when I - was out sailin’—” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll take the bedroom next,” said the man shortly. - </p> - <p> - They disappeared in the next room and the murmur of their voices, with the - moving of a heavy chest and the stir of papers, came out. - </p> - <p> - Andy cast a vicious eye at Juno. He half rose and took a step on tiptoe. - But the bedroom door opened again and he sat down. - </p> - <p> - “I haven’t hauled a trap—nor set one—since the season closed,” - said Uncle William’s voice. - </p> - <p> - “That’s all right, Mr. Benslow. But I have reason to think.... I’d better - make a thorough search—since I am here,” he finished quietly. - </p> - <p> - “You search all you want to,” said Uncle William cordially—“Get - away, Juno.” He pushed her aside with his foot. “This is my sink - cupboard,” he opened the door hospitably. “Lucky I washed some of the - dishes this morning,” he said, “You <i>would</i> ’a’ had a time if I - hadn’t!” The man reached in and drew out a pile of plates. His nose lifted - itself as he set them down and reached in again. He emerged with a quiet - look in his face—“I shall have to trouble you to take out all the - things in that cupboard,” he said with a motion of his hand. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s face had dropped a little. “I most knew you ’d want me to - do that,” he said, “I o’ ’t to ’a’ done it, this morning, before you - came.” - </p> - <p> - The man laughed out. “That’s all right, Mr. Benslow. I don’t mind your - bluffing—as long as you play fair. But that cupboard is a give-away, - dead easy.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William sighed a little. “I wish had my clam-rake,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The man stared at him— - </p> - <p> - “I gen’ally use my clam-rake to haul ’em out,” explained Uncle William - kindly. “I can shove ’em in with the broom or a stick of wood or most - anything, but it’s kind o’ hard gettin’ ’em out—specially for a big - man like me—” He reached in and drew out an ample armful—dippers - and pans and plates and spoons and bowls—then another armful—mostly - tinware and kettles—and then a third—spreading them on the - floor about him with lavish hand. Now and then he stopped to exclaim over - some lost treasure as it came to light. If doom must come, Uncle William - did not propose to meet it more than half way nor with gloomy countenance. - </p> - <p> - The fish-warden watched him with his little cynical smile, and Andy - hitched uneasily in his chair. - </p> - <p> - “There—” Uncle William drew a breath and emerged from the cupboard. - “That’s the last one I can reach—without my rake. <i>You</i> get in, - Andy. You’re smaller ’n I be.” - </p> - <p> - Andy took firm hold of the seat of his chair. “I don’t want to, Willum.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes, you get right in and fetch ’em out, Andy. I’ll hold the candle - for ye.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William lighted a candle and Andy crawled miserably into the depths. - His voice came out, gloomy and protesting, as he handed out a few last - articles. Then there was a long pause and a sound of scraping on the - boards. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William withdrew the candle. - </p> - <p> - “He’s comin’ out,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The fish-warden bent forward, a look of quick interest in his face. - </p> - <p> - Slowly Andy backed into the room and lifted an awed face. In his hand he - held a small monse-trap. “There ain’t a durned thing left,” he said, - “except this.” He held it up and looked at it—and blinked. Then he - laid it down on the table and looked at it again, fondly—and - blinked. A large grin stole into his face. “I put that monse-trap there—time - Juno run away,” he said—“the time you was down to New York.” He had - turned to William. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William was looking at the fish-warden, a kindly smile on his face. - </p> - <p> - The warden ignored it. “I’ll trouble you for that candle,” he said, “I’ll - take a look myself.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William handed it to him and he held it far into the cupboard, - peering at the top and sides and floor. He withdrew it, blowing it out - with a quick puff—“You’ve got off this time,” he said, “but that - smell ought to convict you—if there was any justice in law.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I do’ ’no ’s there is,” said Uncle William, “do you? It does smell - good.” He sniffed a little. “‘Seems’s if they ought to put that in the - schedule they send us, ’Any lobsters, claws <i>or</i> smells found in the - possession of any person whatsoever.’.rdquo; Uncle William marked off the count - on his fingers with kindly eye and beamed. “You could fine me fifty - dollars, or some such matter as that—for that cupboard, I should - think.” The eyes behind the big spectacles twinkled with good fellowship. - </p> - <p> - The fish-warden looked at him. Then he looked at the empty cupboard and at - Andy and the mouse-trap—He smiled a little. “You might speak to them - about the law yourself,” he said. “I can testify it ought to be changed.” - </p> - <p> - “We ’d like to speak to ’em,” said Uncle William, “—about a good - many things. About this lobster-law, now,” He motioned toward the - mouse-trap, “<i>We</i> don’t want any such law. <i>I</i> ain’t a canning - factory. We ain’t pirates, nor lawbreakers here—” - </p> - <p> - The young man smiled a little. - </p> - <p> - “Not without we <i>have</i> to be,” said Uncle William quickly. “They’re - <i>our</i> lobsters, and mostly we know what’s good for ’em—and - what’s good for us, and if we want to ketch a few and eat, now and then, - we don’t need no inspector.... Not but what we’re always glad to see you,” - he said. He held out his hand kindly. “I know—by the looks of your - wife and babies—you’re a good man.” - </p> - <p> - The young man took the big hand, smiling a little. “I’m glad to have met - you, Mr. Benslow,” he said slowly. He looked at him a minute, as if - something in the big face puzzled him. Then he turned away with a little - shake of his head. “I shouldn’t want to meet you regularly—not if - I’m going to keep on being fish-warden,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William chuckled a little. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Mason—there’s - lots of jobs for them that needs ’em—some of ’em right and some of - ’em wrong—and I reckon the main thing is to do what we <i>hev</i> to - do as well as we can and not worry.” - </p> - <p> - He watched the young man down the rocky path, trundling his wheel beside - him. Then he turned back to the red room. He stooped and ran his big hand - along Juno’s back, as it arched to his touch, smoothing it slowly. - </p> - <p> - Andy looked at him with sheepish grin. “Where ’d you put ’em, Willum?” he - said. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William glanced out of the window at the dimpling harbor. A little - breeze blew across it and the waves darkened and ran. He smiled at them - and then at Andy. “I see his lights last night,” he said, “along about - midnight, off the Point, and I says to myself, ’Least said, soonest - mended,’ so I took ’em down and heaved ’em. It hurt Juno some—” He - smoothed the gray back gently, “But she feels all right about it now, I - guess, same as we do.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - V - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">U</span>NCLE WILLIAM was - wondering whether he could leave the frying-pan another day. He had - promised Benjy he would come up... the sun was shining and Benjy needed - him. He went to the door, with the pan in his hand, and looked out. He - took in great sniffs of salt air, looking over his spectacles at the moor - and the sky light on the rocks and the stretch of his face was mild and - happy, and his look rested casually on a figure that had left the beach - and was coming up the rocky path. Presently he leaned forward, waving the - frying-pan back and forth. “‘Morning, George,” he called. - </p> - <p> - The young man came on, with even, swift steps that did not hurry. He held - an envelope in his hand. “Letter for you, Uncle,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William laid down the frying-pan and held out his hand. A mild and - benevolent curiosity held the big face. His look welcomed the whole world - shut up in the bit of envelope. He took it and studied the inscription and - pushed up his spectacles, looking at the young man with satisfaction. “Set - down, Georgie,” he said—“It’s from Celia.” - </p> - <p> - “Who’s Celia?” asked the young man. He seated himself on a rock and - plucked a stem of grass, taking it in his teeth. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at him again and settled slowly into the doorway—filling - it, with the big, checked apron about him—“You ain’t ever seen - Celia, I reckon?” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t believe I have,” responded - </p> - <p> - George. He was looking across the harbor, turning the bit of grass between - his teeth. His glance sought the envelope again, “Come from around here?” - he asked. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William opened it with slow, careful fingers. “Well, not exactly <i>round</i> - here.” He drew out the sheet and smoothed it on his knee and rubbed his - fingers on his apron, and took up the paper, holding it arm’s length. - “It’s somebody ’t ’s coming to live with us,” he explained kindly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh—?” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William read on. He laid down the paper and took off his glasses, - waving them at the landscape. “Some like a woman!” he said. - </p> - <p> - George turned and looked behind him. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t mean off there,” said Uncle William, “I mean here—what she - says,” He took up the letter, “She says she can’t come yet—not just - yet.” He mumbled to the words kindly.... “It’s her clothes,” he - volunteered, “She’s got to get some new ones or fix her old ones, or - suthin—I don’t just understand what ’tis she’s doin’.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t need to, do you!” said the young man. His tone was even, and a - little contemptuous. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William eyed him a minute. “You wa ’n’t ever much acquainted with - women, was ye, George?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know as I was,” said the young man. “Too busy, I guess.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—you al’ays keep a-doin’—same as I do,” said Uncle - William. “But I’ve kind o’ watched ’em—between times—women. - They’re interestin’,” he added, “—a leetle more interesting ’n men - be, I reckon.” - </p> - <p> - A little smile held the face opposite him. “Men are good enough for me,” - he said. - </p> - <p> - “You can talk to men—sensible—know what they mean.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s it,” said Uncle William, “I reckon that’s what I like about women—you - can’t tell <i>what</i> they mean—it keeps you guessing, kind of—makes - you feel lively in your mind.” - </p> - <p> - “My mind’s lively enough without that,” said George carelessly. His eye - was on the dark water and the little white-caps that rode on it. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I do’ ’no’. I like to have a good many things to think about—when - I’m settin’,” said Uncle William, “and when I’m sailin’. I keep quite a - lot of ’em tucked away in my mind somewheres—and fetch ’em out when - I have a minute or two, quiet-like, to myself.” He touched the letter in - his hand, almost reverently, “The’s suthin about women ’t I can’t make out—” - he said, “If it’s a wedding or a funeral or going away, or whatever ’tis—most - the first thing they think about is their clothes—like Celia here—” - he touched the letter again.... “Now, that’s interestin’—’bout their - clothes, ain’t it!” He beamed on him. - </p> - <p> - The young man returned the look tolerantly. “Foolishness,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William nodded. “I know—foolishness for you and me and Andy—and - for Benjy, mebbe. But ’tain’t foolishness for women. You can see that, the - way they do it. It’s kind o’ like goin’ to church to ’em and they don’t - really feel right without they’re doing it.... It’s kind o’ pretty to see - ’em—al’ays a-makin’ and plannin’—and makin’ ’em for the little - ones ’fore they come—turning ’em over, and showin’ ’em to other - women, like enough—not sayin’ much—just lookin’ at ’em.” - </p> - <p> - The young man on the rock stirred uneasily. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William went on hastily. “I reckon it ain’t wrong for Celia to think - about getting her clothes ready.” He was smiling at the letter. “It’s when - they <i>stop</i> thinkin’ about ’em that it’s wrong.... Why, it’s kind o’ - awful!” he added severely. - </p> - <p> - The young man laughed out. Suddenly he stopped and looked at Uncle - William. “—Like Andy’s wife’s!” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Like Harr’et,” assented Uncle William. “Harr’et ’ll wear anything—anything - ’t covers her, that is. She ’d wear sailcloth, I reckon, if ’t wa ’n’t so - hard to sew—old ones, you know, ’t was wore out for sailin’. Harr’et - wouldn’t waste new sails on her.... And that kind o’ hard way she has of - doin’ her hair—like a doughnut—only harder—” Uncle - William rubbed the back of his head reflectively. “I do’ ’no’ what ’tis - about Harr’et. I al’ays feel’s if the woman part of her was gone off - somewheres.... It’s the woman part ’t makes ’em interestin’, I reckon. You - al’ays kind o’ wonder—” - </p> - <p> - “Andy don’t wonder much,” said the young man. “He’s learned mostly.” He - was regarding Uncle William curiously and his face had an alert look. “I - never thought about women that way before,” he said, turning the bit of - grass in his teeth. “You make ’em seem interesting, Uncle William—as - interesting as a boat—or fishing—or doing arithmetic.” He - laughed out. - </p> - <p> - “Celia’s letter reads to me ’s if she ’d kind o’ keep you guessing,” said - Uncle William, taking it up. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve got to be going,” said George. He stood up. - </p> - <p> - “Now, don’t you go yet awhile, Georgie.” Uncle William got to his feet, - looking about him, “The’s two-three little things I wanted to ask you - about. The ketch to my cupboard door don’t work good.” - </p> - <p> - They went into the house and Uncle William tucked the letter behind the - clock. - </p> - <p> - The young man examined the lock and took a file from his pocket and filed - the catch a little, whistling softly. His face had a keen, happy look. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William filled the tea-kettle and put it on and came across and bent - over the young man, a hand on either knee. “I al’ays like to watch ye - doin’ things, George. You do ’em so kind o’ neat.” - </p> - <p> - The young man snapped the catch two or three times in the lock—“That - ’ll work,” he said. He got to his feet, slipping the file into his pocket. - </p> - <p> - “Benjy needs somebody like you up to his place,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “I thought he ’d got a man from Boston.” The tone was non-committal and - dry. The young man was looking at the window. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I guess he’s got somebody—He’s from Boston—yes. Benjy’s - a good deal bothered,” added Uncle William hopefully. - </p> - <p> - George shook his head. “I don’t want to be building—as long as the - fishing suits me.” - </p> - <p> - “Cod—so far,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “You can ’t tell what ’ll be along any day now,” said the young man. He - moved toward the door. - </p> - <p> - “You think it over, George,” said Uncle William—he held up a - benignant hand and cut off the answer—“You just think it over. Mebbe - he won’t need you. But if he does—you ’ll hev to help him out, I - guess. He’s livin’ on the Island now, you know, same as the rest of us.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - VI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">U</span>NCLE WILLIAM and - Benjy had been away all day—up at the new house—and Andy’s - wife had sent dinner to them.... They came home in the dusk, hungry and - tired. “Harr’et’s cooking ’do ’t to be e’t hot,” said Uncle William. He - looked up at his own house. “Hello! somebody’s visitin’ us.” - </p> - <p> - Benjy’s eye lighted. A glow from the red room shone in the dusk. “It’s the - new girl,” he said. They quickened their pace a little. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William went ahead and opened the door. The little room was full of - warm light and the pleasant smell of cooking. By the stove knelt a young - girl, her hand on the oven door. She looked up as they came in and closed - the door carefully. Then she got to her feet—a little smile on her - face. “I’ve come, Mr. Benslow,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “We’re glad to see you,” said Uncle William heartily. He glanced at the - table. “‘D you find dishes enough for a meal?” - </p> - <p> - A little dimple in her cheek came out, and ran away. “I washed a few,” she - replied. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s eye ran along the shelf over the sink. “You’ve done ’em - all!” - </p> - <p> - “Not quite—I put some of them outside by the door—pots and - kettles and pans—” - </p> - <p> - “That’s what I fell over,” said Uncle William, “<i>I</i> gen’ally keep ’em - under the sink—out o’ sight—kind of—?” He looked at her. - </p> - <p> - “I saw where you kept them.” She had dear, searching eyes and quick little - movements that ran ahead of her and did things for her. “Supper is ready,” - she said. “The biscuit are just right.” She took the biscuit from the oven - and set chairs for them at the table and flitted about, with quick, soft - steps. Juno, on her lounge, huddled herself a little and turned her - halfshut eyes on the swish of skirts. By and by she got down and came over - to Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - He fed her a bit of fish and she returned to her lounge, closing her eyes. - “She knows suthin’ ’s happened,” said Uncle William, “Her mind’s going - round and round.” - </p> - <p> - Bodet smiled. “She looks placid enough.” - </p> - <p> - “You can’t tell that way,” said Uncle William. “Women ain’t like men-folks—not - just like ’em. They ’ll smile and look polite and fix their faces—and - then, all of a sudden, things ’ll happen.” - </p> - <p> - A little laugh bubbled over from the sink. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William turned in his chair and looked at her. He adjusted his - glasses and looked again. “‘D you say anything, Celia?” - </p> - <p> - “No, sir—I just thought it was kind of funny about women—” - </p> - <p> - “So ’tis,” said Uncle William, “It’s funny’s anything I know—the way - women be. I take a sight o’ comfort thinkin’ about women and the way they - be.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir—would you like some more tea?” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William waved it away—“Not another mite. We’ve had a good - supper.” He pushed back from the table. “Now, we ’ll help you clear up a - little—” He looked about him. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t want anybody to touch my dishes,” she said promptly. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at her over his glasses. “I was going to show you - where things be,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “I know where everything is.’.rdquo; The little smile played about her lips. - “And I don’t need any help.” She whisked the cloth from the table and bore - it away. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s eye followed her. - </p> - <p> - “There’s a letter for you.” She took it from behind the dock and laid it - on the table. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William took it up with slow fingers. “I gen’ally read my letters - first thing,” he said reflectively. - </p> - <p> - “It’s better to have your supper first.” She disappeared out of the door - and they heard a little rattle of pans. Uncle William chuckled. “Some like - the sou’-west wind,” he said. “You read it, Benjy.” - </p> - <p> - Bodet held out his hand. “They’re in Greenland,” he said, glancing at the - postmark. - </p> - <p> - “I reckoned they ’d be.” Uncle William reached down the map and they bent - over the table, talking and tracing the line of travel and reading bits - from the letter. - </p> - <p> - The girl, as she moved about the room, glanced at them contentedly now and - then. When she had finished her work, she took off her apron and folded it - up. “I’m going now,” she announced, “I’ll be up in the morning—along - about six.” She moved toward the door. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked up, blinking. He had come from Labrador at a lively - rate.... “Why—you can’t go—alone, Celia. You wait a minute - whilst I see about getting ready to go with you.” - </p> - <p> - “I know the way,” she said promptly, “I came up.” - </p> - <p> - “The’s rocks,” said Uncle William. He was lighting a lantern. - </p> - <p> - “I know about the rocks—I’ll take the lantern—thank you, sir.” - She went out of the door and the light of her lantern flitted along down - the path over the cliff. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s eye followed it. He chuckled softly and looked at Benjy. - “A good deal like the sou’-west wind,” he said, “a little - west-by-sou’-west, mebbe—and blowin’ hard.” - </p> - <p> - “She’s a pretty girl,” said Bodet, watching the light out in the dark. - </p> - <p> - “She’s a <i>good</i> girl,” said Uncle William. He looked silently at the - shining rows of dishes over the sink—He crossed the room and opened - the cupboard door under the sink and looked in—“The’ ain’t a dish - left,” he said solemnly, “She’s washed ’em all!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - VII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>’VE got a fire - made, Celia. You come right along in,” said Uncle William. He regarded her - kindly as she stood in the doorway, her curls freshened in the wind and - her cheeks touched with clear pink—like the morning outside. - </p> - <p> - She cast a quick glance at the disordered room and came in. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William retreated a little. “I was cal’lating to clear it up ’fore - you got here,” he said. He gathered in an armful of boots and shoes and - slippers that had strayed away and looked about him a little helplessly— - </p> - <p> - A smile crept into her face and lingered in it. “You’ve got somebody to - take care of you now,” she said. “You put those right down and bring me a - pail of water and some wood—” she looked in the box, “—and a - little fine stuff—to hurry with. Nobody could hurry with that—” - She cast a scornful hand at the wood in the box. - </p> - <p> - “‘Tis kind o’ green,” admitted Uncle William. He took the water-pail and - went outside, looking at the morning with slow content and moving in - supreme restfulness toward the well. When he returned the room was in - order, a smell of coffee filled the air, and the table by the window was - set, in the sunshine, with plates for two. - </p> - <p> - “Benjy up?” asked Uncle William. He glanced toward the inner door as he - set the pail on its shelf. - </p> - <p> - She nodded quickly. “I called him,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “I gen’ally let him sleep,” replied Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “Better for him to be up.” She filled a dipper of water and carried it to - the table, filling the glasses. - </p> - <p> - “Ain’t you going to have breakfast with us?” asked Uncle William, glancing - at the table. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve had mine—I brought in the kindling-wood myself,” she added - pointedly. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s face fell. “I did kind o’ forget—” The door opened - and Benjy came out—yawning, but brisk. “Well, we’ve got a good - start,” he said. He nodded to the girl and sat down. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked relieved. “I thought you ’d kind o’ mind getting up - so early?” he said. - </p> - <p> - Bodet laughed out. “I don’t mind getting up—It’s waiting for - breakfast that I mind.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked out of the window. “I go kind o’ slow on breakfasts,” - he admitted. He craned his neck a little—“Guess George is going - out.” He glanced behind him. The girl had stepped outside the door a - minute and Uncle William leaned forward with a confidential whisper, “She - ’d make a dretful good wife for a <i>young</i> man, wouldn’t she!” - </p> - <p> - “You ’d better eat your breakfast, William—and be thankful,” said - Bodet severely. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William made no reply. A look of deep craft was in his eye. When - Bodet started off, he lingered behind. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll be’long byme-by, Benjy,” he said. He nodded to him kindly. “You go - tell Ordway what you want and I’ll talk to him ’bout it when I come. I - reckon he ’ll do it the way you want it,” he said hopefully. - </p> - <p> - Bodet disappeared up the road, and Uncle William pottered about the door. - By and by he went in. - </p> - <p> - The girl glanced up quickly. “I thought you ’d gone.” - </p> - <p> - “No, I ain’t gone.” Uncle William’s tone was cheerful. “The’s two-three - little things I want to tend to.” He strayed into the bedroom and when he - came out she was seated by the window paring potatoes. “I’ll have to soak - ’em an hour,” she said briskly, “You ought to buy some new ones.” - </p> - <p> - “They be kind o’ old,” said Uncle William. He glanced past her, out of the - window. “Nice place to set,” he suggested. - </p> - <p> - She did not look up. - </p> - <p> - “Guess George Manning’s going out,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “Who’s George Manning?” said Celia. She finished another potato, with - efficiency, and dropped it into the pan of water beside her. - </p> - <p> - “George Manning—He’s about the nicest young man on the Island, I - guess,” said Uncle William innocently. - </p> - <p> - A little laugh flitted at the potatoes. - </p> - <p> - She glanced out of the window and returned to her work. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s look deepened. “He ’d make a dretful good husband for - somebody.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t believe much in husbands,” she replied. She held the knife in her - hand, and she was looking at him with candid, laughing eyes. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William returned the look reproachfully. “You don’t have no call to - say that, Celia!” - </p> - <p> - “I’ve been engaged,” she replied promptly. She took up another potato with - a little glance of scorn at it. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William leaned forward. “When you goin’ to be married?” he asked - happily, “I might ’a’ known you was engaged—nice as you be!” - </p> - <p> - She looked at him. “I’m not engaged any more,” she replied, “I just was.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s face was full of sympathy. “I didn’t know ’t you ’d lost - anybody,” he said. “You poor little girl!” - </p> - <p> - She looked up again—a little puzzled line between her eyes, “He - wasn’t so much—to lose—” she said slowly. - </p> - <p> - “When was it he died?” asked Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - She stared at him. Then she laughed and threw out her hands in a quick - gesture. “You thought he died!” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Didn’t you say so?” demanded Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t mean that—” She returned, a little guiltily, to her - potatoes. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at her. - </p> - <p> - “I just meant I wasn’t going to marry him—nor <i>anybody!</i>” She - lifted her head with a little defiant movement. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s gaze was sober. “You don’t mean you promised him and then - wouldn’t—?” He was looking at her over his spectacles. - </p> - <p> - She nodded her head over the potatoes, biting her lip a little. “I only - loved his hair anyway,” she said. There was silence in the room, and the - faint sound of voices came from the beach. - </p> - <p> - “He had curly hair,” she said, “and it was yellow—like gold—and - all the other girls wanted him—” - </p> - <p> - “George’s hair is black,” said Uncle William hopefully, “—most - black.” - </p> - <p> - She looked at him—and the eyes danced a little behind their - mistiness, “I wouldn’t marry a man—not if his hair was coal-black, - nor if ’twas yellow, nor brown, nor any color—I’ve got <i>you</i> to - take care of and that’s enough!” She glanced at him, almost tenderly, and - carried the potatoes to the sink. “It makes you feel foolish,” she said, - splashing the water into the pan and moving the potatoes about—“It’s - foolish caring about folks and thinking they’re beautiful—and then - finding out that they’re selfish—and stupid and lazy—!” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked out at the sun. “It’s getting late,” he said. - </p> - <p> - He moved toward the door and stood with his back to her. “I like to have - folks get married, Celia—” he said slowly, “I like to think about - homes and buildin’ ’em on the Island—and little ones coming—Don’t - you like to think about it that way?” - </p> - <p> - Her hands dabbled in the water thoughtfully. “I don’t know’s I do,” she - said. “I’ve got a home now—with you—” - </p> - <p> - “It ain’t real—not a real home,” said Uncle William quickly. - </p> - <p> - “It’s the nicest one <i>I</i> ever had,” she said. A little laugh lighted - her face—“and it will be the nicest one that ever was when I’ve - cleaned up a little.” She dried her hands on the towel, looking down at - them. “I know what you mean, Mr. Benslow—about ’little ones’—I - guess every woman knows about that—and wants ’em,” she added, under - her breath, to the towel. “But there’s some things we can’t have!” She - took down the broom from the wall. “Now, if you’re going out, I’ll sweep - up a little.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William did not look back. “Andy’s coming,” he said, “I guess we ’ll - go see how Benjy’s getting on—Don’t you mind anything I said, Celia. - I’m kind o’ old and foolish, like enough.” The girl did not reply. But - when he had gone, she came to the door and stood looking after him—and - the dancing look in her eyes grew wistful and sweet. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - VIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>E used to meet on - this rock when we was boys,” said Uncle William, sitting down, “—You - remember them times, Andy?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t remember nothin’,” said Andy. Uncle William looked at him. “I do’ - ’no’ how you forget so easy.... I can see it all, just as plain as you be—settin’ - there—you and me and Benjy, racing to get to this rock first—and - planning suthin’—suthin’ ’t we hadn’t o’t to.... Seems kind o’ good - to have Benjy back—just ’s if he ’d never been off the island?” - </p> - <p> - “He’s changed some,” said Andy. “Well—outside he’s peaked up a - little—but inside, I can’t see a mite o’ difference. He gets mad - just about ’s easy ’s ever,” said Uncle William contentedly.... “Now, this - morning—” Uncle William moved his hand toward the horizon, “He’s - gone over to his place, all kind o’ boilin’-like. He stopped and gazed at - a figure that loomed on the horizon at the end of the long road. They - watched the light, high-stepping figure come swiftly down the road. - </p> - <p> - “He’s got something on his mind,” said Uncle William, “I can see by the - way his elbows act—kind o’ stiff so. I reckon that contractor does - bother him—a good deal,” he added thoughtfully. - </p> - <p> - The man came on quickly, lessening his gait a little as he neared the - rock, and taking off his hat to the breeze. “Feels good,” he said, - nodding. He seated himself on the big rock. “Well—I’ve done it.” He - turned his head slowly, taking in great whiffs of the fresh, bracing air. - “I’ve fired him,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “You hev!” Uncle William’s face beamed. “That’s good—He’s fired him, - Andy—” - </p> - <p> - “When’s he going to leave?” asked Andy. - </p> - <p> - “He’s going to leave just as soon as he can pack,” said Bodet with - satisfaction, “He’s stood all he can—and so have I.” He threw out - his thin legs and looked at them. “I don’t think I ever knew a man that - irritated me the way he did,” he said reflectively. - </p> - <p> - “I see he kind o’ did,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - Andy looked out to sea. “Harr’et was boardin’ him,” he said, “She was - cal’-lating on the board money—right along.” His eye dropped to - Bodet. - </p> - <p> - The man threw out an impatient leg. - </p> - <p> - “Now, don’t you mind about that,” said Uncle William hastily, “Benjy ’ll - fix it up all right—He’s got to have <i>somebody</i> to build his - house, and it’s got to be somebody that ’ll eat—somebody with a - stomach.” - </p> - <p> - The thin man sat up, smiling a little. - </p> - <p> - “I wish to the Lord I knew whose stomach it was!” he said, “It’s like - trying to build a house in heaven—having to import contractors and - masons and plumbers—” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William chuckled—— “We gen’ally use the home-folks, - round here,” he said after a pause. - </p> - <p> - Bodet looked at him a little. “You wouldn’t build a twenty-thousand dollar - house just with the home-folks, would you!” - </p> - <p> - “I do’ ’no’ why not,” said Uncle William, “It ain’t so much different from - any other house, fur as I see—just more <i>of</i> it—more - spread. There’s George Manning,” he suggested. - </p> - <p> - “The carpenter?” Bodet’s lip smiled. - </p> - <p> - “Well—he ain’t exactly a carpenter—not exactly,” said Uncle - William. “He’s a fisherman too—first-class—and he can steer - any kind of a craft you want to rig up. He was captain on the Halifax Line - one spell.” Uncle William’s eye followed the boats passing across the - harbor. “An’ he’s a kind o’ mason, and a first-rate painter—I do’ - ’no’s you could git a man knows more ’n George Manning does.... I never - see the thing yet George wa ’n’t willing to tackle. Seems’s if he kind o’ - liked to try his hand at things folks said couldn’t be done. I’ve seen him - sit up night after night figgering on things—” - </p> - <p> - “He ’ll have to figure some on this,” said Bodet. He drew the plans from - his pocket. “This is what we’ve just split on—Ordway and I—” - He spread out the paper, holding it between his hands. Uncle William moved - over a little toward it. Andy dropped an eye from above.... “This is it,” - said Bodet. “You see how that roof-line comes down, don’t you?” - </p> - <p> - “Uh-huh,” Uncle William looked at it with pleased smile—“Comfy, - ain’t it—Sort o’ makes a house look like an old hen with her - chickens.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s it,” said Bodet quickly, “It’s the very thing I want—a house - that settles down among the rocks as if it belonged there—The - architect got the idea all right—from photographs. But he hadn’t - been here and we hadn’t allowed for that dip to the south—You know - it?” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William nodded. “Drops fo’-five feet, I should think?” - </p> - <p> - “Six—: a little over six,” replied Bodet, “and this is the kind of - thing <i>he</i> wanted—Ordway wanted!” He took out a rough pencil - sketch and held it at arm’s length. “He wants to run it out here in the - air, this way, and put a lattice-work underneath.... paint it green, I - suppose.” He snorted a little. - </p> - <p> - “Does look kind o’ funny—don’t it, Andy?” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “Looks good enough—far as <i>I</i> see,” said Andy, “I’ve seen a lot - of houses built that way.” - </p> - <p> - “—So have <i>I</i>,” broke in Bodet. He crushed the paper in his - hand. “It’s a seaside cottage,” he said, “—a regular seaside - cottage!” - </p> - <p> - “I do’ ’no’ what you feel that way about it for,” said Andy, “if ’tis a - cottage and ’tis built on the sea—right along side—” - </p> - <p> - Bodet got impatiently to his feet—“Ordway couldn’t see, either. - That’s why I fired him—’<i>seaside cottage!</i>’—” He fizzed a - little and straightened his garments and shook his legs. - </p> - <p> - “There, there, Benjy,—don’t you mind. I’m a-thinkin’ about it,” said - Uncle William soothingly. - </p> - <p> - Benjy smiled—the thin, sweet smile that seemed to come of itself - from somewhere behind the high, nervous features, when Uncle William’s - voice spoke to it, “All right, William, I won’t mind—now I’ve got - Ordway off my hands. I thought one time he would drive me crazy—” - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t know but he would, too,” said Uncle William, “You acted kind o’ - queer.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I felt kind o’ queer,” responded Bodet dryly. “Now, about Manning—We - ’ll go talk things over with him.... He <i>might</i> do—with a - little watching.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - IX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>ENJY thought mebbe - you ’d do the <i>whole</i> thing, George!” - </p> - <p> - The three men stood on the site of the new house. Across the rocks and - moor Uncle William’s chimney showed against the sky, and below them the - water of the harbor dimpled in little waves of light. - </p> - <p> - Benjamin Bodet stood looking across it, a kind of quiet satisfaction in - his face. - </p> - <p> - “He’s been a good deal bothered,” said Uncle William to the younger man. - They moved a little aside and looked at him. “What he wants,” said Uncle - William, “is somebody that ’ll take everything off him—do all the - figgerin’ and plannin’ that comes up and trot round and get things—men, - you know—and things you run out of and can’t get on the Island. It’s - kind o’ hard building out at sea,” he said tentatively, “But <i>you</i> - could do it?” He turned to him. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I could do it—if he wants me to,” said Manning. He held the - stalk of grass between his teeth and it turned slowly as he talked, “I’d - like to build a house like this one—such as he’s planning for.... - There must be a good many things come up, you won’t know how to do.” He - moved his hand toward the circumference about them, with a half gesture. - </p> - <p> - “That’s it,” said Uncle William, “That’s just what I told Benjy.... You - take the whole thing over—tell him how much ’twill cost, and so on—figger - it out?” - </p> - <p> - “Beforehand!” said the man with a slow look. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William nodded. “He wants to know before he begins. I told him mebbe - you couldn’t do it—but he’s kind o’ set on it.” He looked at the - other a little anxiously. The man chewed the bit of grass in silence. - </p> - <p> - “Ordway ’d done it,” said Uncle William simply. - </p> - <p> - Manning turned a slow eye on him. “How ’d he know he could get men—here - on the Island—and keep ’em!” he demanded. - </p> - <p> - “Well, he <i>didn’t</i> know it, George.” Uncle William chuckled a little. - “I reckon he ’d ’a’ learned quite a few things about the Island—if - he ’d ’a’ kep’ on it.” - </p> - <p> - “I reckon he would,” said the man with a slow smile. “<i>I</i> can’t tell - Bodet what it ’ll cost—What if a barge-load of lumber should be held - up, getting here?—Might have to wait weeks—Suppose I can’t get - anybody to board ’em—” - </p> - <p> - “Andy ’ll board ’em,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “Umph,” said the man. - </p> - <p> - “An’ Andy’s wife—you want to put her in. She might up an’ say she - wouldn’t, any day?” - </p> - <p> - Manning shook his head. “I can’t sign any contract, and I can’t tell him - what it will cost—not within a good many dollars—a house like - that—but if he wants me to build it, I’ll take it and do my best for - him.” - </p> - <p> - “The’s a good many things might happen,” allowed Uncle William, turning it - slowly in his mind. “The Widow Deman’s well might go dry and then where ’d - you be, with your mortar and plaster and cement, if that well run dry?” - </p> - <p> - The man looked at him. - </p> - <p> - “You ’d want to put the well in,” Uncle William suggested, “if you <i>should</i> - make the contract—” - </p> - <p> - “You can’t clutter up a contract that way. I’m not going to make any - contract to build a house on this Island.” - </p> - <p> - “He ’ll want to do what’s fair,” said Uncle William. “S’pose you go see - about the well whilst I talk with him,” he added diplomatically. - </p> - <p> - The man moved in the direction of a little house a few rods away and Uncle - William turned toward the tall figure pacing back and forth on the - short-cropped turf. - </p> - <p> - Bodet turned as he came up. “Who cares about building a house!” he said. - “Look at that sky and water and all this—!” His gesture took in the - rocks and turf and the flock of sheep feeding their way up the hill to the - horizon. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s eye followed it all placidly. “You do get over being in a - hurry—up here,” he said slowly, “I reckon it’s because the Lord’s - done so well by it—got a chance to finish things up—without - folks meddling too much—it seems kind o’ foolish to hurry ’bout - things.... Well, George ’ll do your house for you—if you want him - to.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m willing to try him,” said the man with a little note of - condescension. “Where’s he gone!” - </p> - <p> - “He’s just stepped over to the Widow Deman’s well,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “He ’ll sign the contract, of course!” - </p> - <p> - “Well—” Uncle William hesitated. “He ’ll sign one, I guess, if you - say so—If <i>I</i> was buildin’ a house, I’d just go ahead and build—if - I could get George Manning.” - </p> - <p> - The tall man fidgeted a little. “Suppose he takes a notion—feathers - his own nest while he’s building my house,” he said at last. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s eyes grew large—then they laughed. “George Manning - ain’t a bird of the air, Benjy—and he’s pretty well past feathers - now.... Curious, I didn’t understand about that contract,” he said after a - little pause. “It never come over me that you thought George wouldn’t do - the square thing by you... and I guess he wouldn’t ’a’ got it through his - head all summer—that you thought he was going to cheat you—! - Lucky I didn’t think of it,” he added, “I’d ’a’ made a muss of it somehow - and you wouldn’t ’a’ got your house built—not this year, anyhow.” He - looked at him sympathetically. - </p> - <p> - Bodet smiled. “I didn’t suppose there was a man left, you could trust like - that,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Well, George ain’t <i>left</i> exactly. He’s just here with the rest of - us,” said Uncle William—“Folks mean to do ’bout what’s right up - here, I guess. And I do’ ’no’ but that’s about as easy way as any. I’ve - tried both kinds of places—honest and say nothin’—and places - where they cheats and signs papers, and I do’ ’no’ ’s it’s any better ’n - our way—just going along and doing as well as you can and expectin’ - other folks to.... He’s coming back,” said Uncle William. They watched the - young man move across the rocks toward them—thin and spare-built and - firm. His face, tempered fine like a piece of old bronze, held a - thoughtful look, and the stalk of grass between his teeth turned with - gentle motion as he came. - </p> - <p> - “How ’d you find it?” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - He looked up. “It’s all right—fourteen feet of water, I guess.” He - drew a slip of paper from his pocket and turned to Bodet—“I’ve been - running it over in my mind a little,” he said slowly “and if that’s any - use to you, I’m willing to sign it.” - </p> - <p> - Bodet took the paper in his thin fingers and swung his glasses to his - nose. Uncle William looked at him with pleased smile. - </p> - <p> - The glasses swung down from the long nose. “<i>What</i> has the Widow - Deman’s well got to do with <i>my</i> house!” he said expressively? - </p> - <p> - Uncle William leaned forward. “That’s my idee, Benjy.” He looked over the - high shoulder— - </p> - <p> - “I will build your house for $25,000, provided and allowed the Widow - Deman’s well holds out. - </p> - <p> - “(Signed) George Manning.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s right, George—that’s fust-rate,” said Uncle William, “You’ve - put it high enough to cover you—and Benjy, too.” - </p> - <p> - “It would seem so,” said Bodet. “Ordway had figured twenty thousand—and - he’s not cheap.” - </p> - <p> - “I <i>told</i> George to make it high—more ’n it could possibly - figger up to,” said Uncle William with satisfaction, “so ’s ’t you ’d get - something back—’stead o’ having to pay out more ’n you expected to. - I thought that was what you wanted the contract for,” he added - significantly. - </p> - <p> - “I see—Well, it’s a bargain—and without any pieces of paper.” - He tore what was in his hands through, and handed it back with a little - courteous gesture of decision—“If I’m going to build on the Island, - I’ll build as the Island builds.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s right, Benjy. Now, let’s have a look at them plans.” Uncle William - found a rock and sat down. The other two men moved from point to point, - driving in stakes, and pulling them out, measuring lines and putting down - new ones. While they were doing it, a big wind blew in around and - proceeded to pile up clouds and roll them up the hill behind them. Uncle - William watched the clouds and George Manning and Bodet, moving to and fro - before them. - </p> - <p> - “Manning says it can’t be done,” said Bodet, walking over to him. Two - straight wrinkles stood between his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t see how it can be—not yet,” said the man. He held out the - plan. “He wants his chimney—” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William nodded. “I know—where the old one was.” - </p> - <p> - “But that chimney isn’t any good. You’ve got to build from the ground up—You - can’t use the old foundation—?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, not exactly <i>use it</i>, mebbe.” Uncle William looked at him - thoughtfully. “I do’ ’no’s I can tell you, George, what he wants it that - way for—You see he <i>set</i> by that chimney when he was a boy—and - the’s something about it—about the idee, you know?” - </p> - <p> - The carpenter looked at him with slow, smiling eyes. “‘Tain’t the chimney, - then—He kind o’ likes the idea of a chimney—does he?... He - didn’t say anything about the idea,” he added, “He just kind o’ fussed - around when I tried to shift her—” He looked at the paper in his - hand. “Well—I can’t tell—yet. I’ve got to figure on it—I’ll - go down now and order my lumber, I guess.” He moved away toward the road - and Uncle William got up. - </p> - <p> - He crossed over to the old chimney and stood looking toward the hill that - mounted above it. The sun had disappeared and the dark turf was soft.... - Long reaches of turf and the cropping sheep that moved across it in slow - shapes. Uncle William drew a deep breath and turned to the man who stood - silent beside him—his eyes on the hill. “Does seem like home, don’t - it, Benjy?” he said quietly, in the big, deep voice that boomed underneath - like the sea. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - X - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE young carpenter - approached Bodet cautiously with his solution of the roof-line. They had - talked it over a dozen times and Bodet had become restlessly impatient.... - Ordway might be right, after all.... He looked at different forms of - lattice-work and stone foundations and swore softly at a terrace—Ordway’s - idea—with morning glories alongside.... Uncle William, any day, at - any time of day, was in favor of a new plan altogether. He stood ready to - furnish details—like his own house, mebbe, only bigger.... After - this suggestion, every time it came up, he went out and sat on the rocks a - long while and looked at the water. Andy coming by hailed him. “What you - doing?” he called. - </p> - <p> - “Just a-settin’ here a little,” replied Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “Ain’t Benjy to home?” demanded Andy. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he’s to home,” admitted William. - </p> - <p> - Andy looked toward the house. - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn’t go in, if I was you,” said William, “He’s kind o’ tending to - things—in his mind.” - </p> - <p> - But if Bodet fretted at delays and slow decisions and failure of material - to arrive, he caught the spirit of the place, after a little, and settled - down to it and held up work—a week at a time—while he changed - details or pottered over new ones. Uncle William—in his element—went - back and forth between the old chimney-place and his house, carrying ideas - and bricks with impartial hand. George Manning, with one eye on his plans - and the other on his men, pushed the work or held it back, as the wind - blew. When the men grumbled over a foundation wall torn out and put in - again, with a hair’s breadth of difference, he looked at them with slow, - sympathetic eye and admitted that it wasn’t so very much different, maybe—just - enough to look different, somehow. - </p> - <p> - It was when he had studied on the roofline a week or more, that he came in - one morning—a look of cautious elation in his face. - </p> - <p> - Bodet sat before the fire reading day-before-yesterday’s paper. Uncle - William was pottering about, finishing the last of the dishes, and Celia - was down at, Andy’s helping Harriet who was ill. - </p> - <p> - Bodet looked up as the young man came in, and laid down his paper. “How is - it coming on?” he said. The tone was mild. He had had a good night’s rest, - and he had come somehow to share Uncle William’s belief that Manning would - find a way out—“only give him time enough and suthin’ to figger on.” - </p> - <p> - The young man seated himself on the red lounge, his hat between his knees. - “I don’t suppose you ’d like going up and down stairs?” he said. - </p> - <p> - Bodet looked at him a little quizzically and swung his glasses to his - nose. “That depends,” he replied. - </p> - <p> - “It won’t be stairs exactly,” said Manning, “just steps, maybe. You drop - the floor of the south room to get your level and then put some steps here—” - He came over with the paper. - </p> - <p> - Bodet took it in cautious fingers. - </p> - <p> - Manning bent over him. “There’s the living-room and the fire-place,” He - indicated the rough lines, “—just where you want them—You kind - of look down into the room, you see, when the door’s open—instead of - all on a level—?” - </p> - <p> - “I see.” Bodet studied it with lifting face. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William came over and stood by them, his dish towel on his arm and - his glasses alert—“The house sort o’ climbs down the rocks, don’t - it?” he suggested. “I’ve seen them that way—foreign parts—a - lot.” The glow in his face swept the room. “I do’ ’no’ how we didn’t come - to think of it, fust thing—easy as settin’.” - </p> - <p> - “Just about,” said Bodet. “How did you get it?” He looked at the young - man. “You never saw a room like that, did you?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I never saw one,” he replied slowly—“but <i>something</i> ’d - got to give way somewheres. You wouldn’t let the roof-line be touched, nor - the ground, and there wasn’t anything left to give way—but the - floor. I guess it kind of dropped down by itself—while I was - figuring on it.” He looked at it fondly. - </p> - <p> - “It improves the thing fifty per cent,” said Bodet. He held off the paper, - scanning it with happy vision, “We ’ll have a little railing here, with - carving on it, and something leading up to it—It’s the feature of - the place.” He handed it back. “Go ahead with it. There isn’t anything - else to decide, is there?” - </p> - <p> - “No. Things are coming on.” He took the paper, tucking it in his pocket. - “The ’Happy Thought’ got in last night with her lumber and the new masons - came this morning. I was kind of bothered about their not getting here, - and the Widow Deman’s well going dryer and dryer all the while, and no - brickwork getting done. I’ll go set ’em to work.” He nodded and was gone. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked after him with smiling face. “He’s a nice boy,” he - said, “You just can’t <i>find</i> a thing George can’t figger out.” - </p> - <p> - “He’s a genius,” said Bodet thoughtfully, “He ought to be somewhere - besides on this island—somewhere he ’d have a chance.” - </p> - <p> - “Chance for what?” asked Uncle William, with simple interest. - </p> - <p> - “A chance to rise,” said Bodet with emphasis. “It’s all right for you and - me, William—old men—with our work done—” - </p> - <p> - “Mine ain’t quite done,” said William, “—your bed and two-three - things,” and he flaxed around softly as if he were doing something. - </p> - <p> - Bodet smiled at him. “Now what do you think you are doing, William?” he - said. “We’re out of it. We’ve had our day—we’ve worked and fought - and suffered—” - </p> - <p> - “That’s it, Benjy.” Uncle William nodded, “We <i>hev</i> had a good time, - ain’t we? But I do’ ’no’s I ever had a better one ’n I’m having right here - on the Island—specially since you come,” he added. - </p> - <p> - The other shook his head. “It won’t do, William. A young man must go out - into the world—and do things.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William hung his dish towel on the line. The big face in its tufts - of beard glowed at Benjy over the top—“I suppose folks ’d say - there’s bigger things I could be doin’—than wash dishes—but I - do’ ’no’ what they be,” he said thoughtfully. “There’s things I’d like - better—it’s terrible fussy—getting ’em clean and keepin’ - ahead, so ’s ’t you ’ll have enough for a meal—and I’m putty glad - Celia’s coming back.... I’ve thought about it, Benjy—a good many - times—” He came over and sat down, “—’bout living here on the - Island. We don’t hurry much, but seems to me we <i>get</i> about as much—about - as much living as other folks do.” He looked at him over his glasses. - “We’ve got enough to eat, and beds—putty <i>good</i> beds—and - things to wear.... I keep a-thinking and a-thinking about it,” he went on, - “and I don’t see just what ’tis we o’t to scratch around so for.” - </p> - <p> - “There’s education,” said the other, swinging his long glasses on their - slender chain. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, <i>you’ve</i> got eddication, Benjy. I can see it—kind o’ the - way you set in a chair—different from my way.” Uncle William - regarded his great legs with kindly eye. “But I do’ ’no’ ’s you’re any - happier—or your legs any happier?” he said slowly. - </p> - <p> - “You know I’m not happier.” The man turned with a quick smile, “There are - not many men happier than you are, William.” - </p> - <p> - “No, I suppose the’ ain’t. Sometimes I wake up in the night and think how - happy I be—Seems kind o’ shiftless,” he added thoughtfully, “Like - enough, I ought to be out hustling for suthin’—But I do’ ’no’ what - it ’d be?” - </p> - <p> - “Manning ought to get out into the world—and he’s going to—when - he’s finished my house.... It’s all right for you, William. You’ve earned - a rest.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William smiled. “I don’t want any rest, Benjy—no more ’n - George Manning—I like to keep a-doing—kind o’ gradual-like—al’ays - did.... I can’t see ’s the Lord hurries much,” he added, with a glance at - the little window. - </p> - <p> - “You’re <i>not</i> the Lord, William,” said Benjy. - </p> - <p> - William smiled at him—his broad, kind smile, “‘Twas a kind o’ funny - idea—my saying that—wa ’n’t it? I do’ ’no’ <i>why</i> I get to - thinking about things—and about me and the Lord.... I reckon it’s - because I’m out in a boat so much—kind o’ sailin’ around and - watching how he does things—and kind o’ enjoying his ways,” he added - softly.... “The’s suthin’-about it—suthin’ about the way the tides - come in and the sun goes down and the stars come out—that makes you - feel glad. I’ve seen George Manning, a good many times—when we was - out, and had a ketch, and was coming along in, towards dark—I’ve - seen him set and look... and I knew he wa ’n’t thinkin’ ’bout how many - fish we ’d got—any more ’n. I was. You can’t think how many fish - you’ve got—more ’n about so long—” said Uncle William - thoughtfully. - </p> - <p> - He glanced down the road. “There’s Celia comin’,” he said happily. He went - over and watched her come—“Don’t she kind o’ skim along good, - Benjy!” The smile on his big face kindled and deepened. “It’s most too bad - George ain’t here.” He looked back into the room with a shrewd glance. “He - never see anybody just like her—I reckon.” - </p> - <p> - Bodet shook his head. “You better let well enough alone, William.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, mebbe I will,” said Uncle William. “‘Twon’t hurt none for him to - see her—will it?... You got back pretty quick, Celia.”—He - looked kindly at her glowing cheeks, “How’s Harr’et?” - </p> - <p> - “She’s feeling better,” said the girl. She glanced about the room, “You - did the dishes!—I didn’t mean you to do the dishes.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t do ’em so very well,” said Uncle William. “We had company whilst - you was gone,” he added craftily. - </p> - <p> - She looked at him—“That young fellow that’s building his house for - him?” She nodded at Bodet, who had taken his hat and gone outside. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William nodded back—“That’s the one, Celia—You ain’t - ever seen him, have you?” - </p> - <p> - “I’ve seen him out of the window,” she said shortly, “That’s near enough - for me—seeing him go by.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s face fell a little. “I guess I’ll go ’long up with Benjy,” - he said. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>EORGE MANNING - looked about him with satisfaction. The walls of the new house were up and - boarded in—so much was safe. He knew Bodet might appear any minute - with a completely new plan—unless it could be staved off—but - he reflected comfortably, as he looked up at the great broadside of boards - before him, that he probably would not tear down the whole thing any - more.... The sound of saws and hammers came with a cheerful falling rhythm—now - together, and now in hurried broken notes—and the men on the roof - were singing—a great blond Swede leading them. - </p> - <p> - Manning stepped into the living-room and stopped and gave a few directions - to the masons and then moved over to the window and looked out. Far below - him, the harbor reflected the dear sun and he squinted across it, scanning - the horizon for the little black steamer that was to bring Portland cement - and a consignment of windows. The windows had been due three weeks now—and - the work would be handicapped if they did not come soon. He turned away - and attacked his work, whistling softly. - </p> - <p> - “Morning, George.” It was Uncle William—big and happy—in the - doorway, beaming down upon him. - </p> - <p> - “Morning, Uncle—Mr. Bodet come up with you?” - </p> - <p> - “He’s outside somewheres. He’s got a new idee—about the well.” - </p> - <p> - Manning smiled a little—a shrewd, dry smile—and drew the plane - toward him, “I don’t mind his having new plans for <i>wells</i>,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William sat down on a nail-keg and picked up a bit of pine, feeling - in his pocket for his knife. He drew it out, and squinted across it, and - opened the smaller blade, running it casually along his thumb. - </p> - <p> - George Manning’s plane followed a curling shaving down the length of the - board and withdrew. There was a clean smell of pine mingling with the salt - air. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William whittled a few minutes in silence. Then he looked through - the great window-space, to the harbor. “I feel queer,” he said - thoughtfully—“I feel dretful queer.” - </p> - <p> - The plane skirled its shaving off and Manning stopped—looking at him—“Anything - wrong, Uncle William?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - William shook his head. “I don’t mind so much having things wrong.... I’m - kind o’ used to it—having to fuss and fiddle some. It’s when things - are comfortable-like—what most folks call comfortable—that I - get grumpy, I guess.... We’ve got a new girl down to the house,” he added - kindly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes—I heard about her.” Manning’s eyes laughed. “Puts you out, - don’t it?” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William nodded. “I’m a good deal surprised to see how I feel. I - cal’lated I’d come along up here—like a colt turned out to grass. - Just set around and watch things—same as ever—feeling kind o’ - light in my mind.... I don’t feel a mite light.” He sighed and returned to - his whittling. - </p> - <p> - “You ’ll get used to it,” said Manning consolingly. - </p> - <p> - “I do’ ’no’ whether I shall or not. It’s been quite a spell now—” - Uncle William held off his pine stick and looked at it. “I’m kind o’ - wondering if I didn’t <i>like</i> to have them dishes—” - </p> - <p> - “To wash—?” - </p> - <p> - “Well—not to wash exactly—but to leave around behind—suthin’ - I’d o’t to, and didn’t.... All the way up the road I keep kind o’ missing - ’em—wishing I’d find ’em under the sink, mebbe, when I get back.... - I wouldn’t want to do ’em exactly, when I got there, I suppose. But I do - miss ’em.” He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - Manning pushed a heap of shavings aside with his foot and bent to his - plane again. “I can find things enough, most any day—things I ought - to do—and don’t—easy job, Uncle William.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at him. “You ought to be considerable happy, George,” - he said slowly. - </p> - <p> - “Well—I am happy—as happy as most folks, I guess.” His shrewd, - thin face followed the plane with even look. “I’ve got enough to do—if - that’s what you mean.” He unscrewed his board from the bench and carried - it across the room. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s eye followed him. “I suppose you never thought of getting - married, George?” he said casually. - </p> - <p> - The young man shook his head at the board he was trying to fit in place. - “Never was tempted,” he said. He measured a length on the board and took - up his saw. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William retired into his mind. Benjamin Bodet came and stood in the - door and looked at the two, and disappeared. The sound of the hammers - trooped in and out through the silence. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William stood up, snapping his knife together. “I guess I’ll go find - Benjy,” he said. He wandered out and sat down on a rock near by. Over the - top of a scattered pile of lumber he could see Benjy’s head moving back - and forth. - </p> - <p> - “Best kind of weather,” murmured Uncle William. He sat down. - </p> - <p> - By and by Benjy appeared around the corner of the lumber. - </p> - <p> - “We’re going to have dinner up here,” announced Uncle William. “Celia sent - word by Gunnion’s boy she ’d have it here by twelve, sharp.” Uncle - William’s face was guileless. - </p> - <p> - Benjy sat down. “I can’t get it through Marshall’s head—what I want - about that well,” he said testily. “I’ll have to see Manning about it.” - </p> - <p> - “George ’ll fix it for ye all right,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “Have the windows come?” asked Bodet. - </p> - <p> - “Not yet, I reckon—He didn’t say—You’re going to have a nice - house, Benjy!” His eyes rested on the rough frame, “It’s getting to look - like I thought ’twould—nice and low—kind o’ like an old hen, - you know—spreading her wings and settling down.” - </p> - <p> - Bodet’s face followed his look. “It’s coming out all right. Your George - Manning knows his business—knows what he’s about.” - </p> - <p> - “He’s a nice boy,” said Uncle William. “The’s things about him might be - different—might be a little different,” he added cautiously. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know what they are. But I shall have a chance to find out, I - suppose—before we’re through.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, he ’ll do <i>this</i> all right.” - </p> - <p> - Bodet stared at him a little. “He’s not likely to have a much bigger job - on hand—is he?” - </p> - <p> - “Mebbe not,” said Uncle William hastily, “I do’ ’no’ <i>what</i> I mean, - like enough. I just had a feeling—kind of a feeling, that George wa - ’n’t perfect.” - </p> - <p> - Bodet laughed out. “I should hope not—if I’m to have dealings with - him. Come on in and talk with him about the well.” - </p> - <p> - They went toward the house. Through the window they could see the young - man across the room, measuring a space on the wall. He stood back and - looked at it thoughtfully—then he turned and saw them. “I was - thinking about the width here,” he said, “If your picture you’re going to - put here is five by nine—I’ll have to get the space on this side—somehow.” - </p> - <p> - “We’re coming in,” said Bodet, “I wanted to talk to you—Marshall’s - all at sea with that well of his.” - </p> - <p> - “I told him—” said Uncle William. His mouth closed on the word, and - a little smile crept up to it. “Why, Celia—I didn’t think you ’d be - along yet—not quite a while yet.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s dinner time,” she said. She stood in the doorway, looking in. She - wore no hat, and her hair was blown in little curls by the wind. “You - going to have your dinner in here?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “Why, yes—I guess we might as well—have it here—right - here on the bench—can’t we, George?” - </p> - <p> - “For anything I care,” said the young roan, “I’ve got to go—” He - turned toward the door. - </p> - <p> - “Oh—George—” Uncle William stopped him. “I want you to see - Celia. This is our new girl—Celia.” - </p> - <p> - The young man stood very straight and stiff, regarding her. “How do you - do,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I’m pretty well, thank you.” A little laugh nodded in the words and - whisked them away. “I’m very glad to see you,” she said. She looked down - at her hands. Then she held out one of them. - </p> - <p> - The young man marched across and took it—he shook it a little and - laid it down. “It’s a nice day,” he said briefly. - </p> - <p> - She smiled at him—straight and quick. Then she lifted the basket and - set it on the table. “I couldn’t ’a’ got it here, ever, if Jim Gunnion’s - team hadn’t come along,” she said. She opened the basket. “There’s your - pickles—and biscuit—and pie—and cheese—” She set - the things on the table, at one side—“and here’s your tablecloth.” - She blew the bits of shavings from the bench and spread a red cloth across - its width. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s eyes followed her, with a little twinkle—somewhere - below them. - </p> - <p> - “It’s nice not to have to come home to dinner,” said Bodet impersonally. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir—I couldn’t have you all down there to-day. I’m too busy.” - She stood back, looking at the table. “That’s all you need—Here’s - the salt—and the pepper—and the stew is nice and hot.” She - took the lid from the smoking pail and peered in. “I put coals under the - pail,” she said. “You want to look out and not set things afire.... I’m - going now. You can bring the dishes tonight when you come—” She - stood in the door—and was gone. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William laughed out—and looked at Manning. The young man was - regarding him soberly. - </p> - <p> - “Draw up, George,” said Uncle William, “It looks to me as if the’ was - enough for three—easy.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ve got mine—outside,” said the young man. He lingered a little, - apparently examining the bricks in the fireplace. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at him and then drew up to the table. “Celia’s a - dretful good cook,” he said. He helped himself to the stew. - </p> - <p> - The young man went slowly toward the door. “I guess I’ll go see Marshall—about - the well.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked over his shoulder. “Oh—and—George—?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “If you happen to be goin’ by this evening, you know, along after dark, - you might stop in. I’ve got suthin’ to tell you—kind of an idee—’bout - the well.” - </p> - <p> - “You might tell me now—before I see Marshall—?” suggested - Manning. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William shook his head. “I can’t tell ye—not yet. It’s suthin’ - about the old well—and pipes and things. I’m kind o’ thinkin’ it out—” - </p> - <p> - “All right. I’ll be in—along after supper.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, that’s a good time. I’ll have it thought up—by that time, like - enough.” The young man went out and Uncle William continued to chew - slowly, his eyes on the red table cloth. Presently he looked up and his - eye met Bodet’s—He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “I do’ ’no’ <i>what</i> I’ll tell him about that well,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Tell him the idea you had just now—the one you spoke of. It will - come back to you by that time, maybe.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William shook his head again—slowly. “That idee can’t come - back to me, Benjy—I ain’t ever had it.” - </p> - <p> - Bodet stared at him. “You told him—” - </p> - <p> - “I know I told him, Benjy.” Uncle William was a little testy. “I do’ ’no’ - <i>what</i> I lie so easy for.... Seems ’s if sometimes there was lies all - round in the air—just waiting to slip in.... I never had no idee - ’bout that well—I’ll have to have one.” - </p> - <p> - Bodet’s eye rested on him reflectively. “You must have had <i>some</i> - reason—” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked up hastily, “I don’t believe I did, Benjy. I say - things like that sometimes—things that don’t mean a thing—things - that ain’t so. It makes me a lot of trouble.” - </p> - <p> - He got up and went to the window. “There’s your Portland cement, out - there, and your windows. I thought the sky was gettin’ kind o’ smudgy.” - </p> - <p> - Bodet followed him and they stood together, looking down at the big harbor - where the sails went to and fro and the little black steamer was coming - in. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE little room was - shining-clean. The window shone, the stove shone, and the boards of the - floor were sand-white. Uncle William, standing in the door, looked at them - cautiously. Then he looked down at his feet and wiped them on a piece of - sacking spread on the step. “Clean enough to eat off of,” he said, - stepping carefully on to the white floor. - </p> - <p> - The girl at the sink nodded, the little curls bobbing about her face. - “I’ve been scrubbing,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “I should say you had!”—He stepped forward gingerly. “You’ve done a - lot to it.”—He was looking about vaguely, as if to find a place to - put his feet down. - </p> - <p> - The girl’s look relaxed subtly. “I thought you ’d like to have it clean—I - wanted to do it the way you like?” She was looking at him a little - wistfully—“You do like it, don’t you?” - </p> - <p> - “It’s just right, Celia—I shouldn’t know anybody ’d lived in it—ever. - You ain’t seen Juno anywheres round, have you!” - </p> - <p> - A subdued look flitted in the girl’s face. “She went off when I began to - beat the lounge. I saw her flying over the rocks—I had to beat it - hard, you know?” - </p> - <p> - “‘Twas kind o’ dusty, wa ’n’t it?” said Uncle William, looking at it - affectionately. “I’ve been meaning to do it myself—but when I was - thinkin’ and settin’ on it, I couldn’t do it and when I wa ’n’t settin’ on - it, I wa ’n’t thinkin’ about it.” He moved toward the sink. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve put your washing-duds outside,” said Celia, “your wash-basin and - towel and soap and things—out by the door, you know.” She motioned - him off. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William stopped and looked at her. “That’s the way Harr’et has ’em,” - he said. “How ’d you come to think of that, Celia?” - </p> - <p> - The girl bubbled a little laugh. “I didn’t think very hard—Is Mr. - Bodet coming?” - </p> - <p> - “He ’ll be right along,” said Uncle William. “He stopped to talk with - George Manning—about plans and so on. He ’ll be here pretty quick - now.” He went out of the door, and the room was very quiet. The girl stood - twisting a corner of her apron in her fingers and looking about the - shining room. There was a little dimple in her cheek that came and went. - </p> - <p> - “What you thinking about, Celia?” asked Uncle William, coming in. His face - glowed from its washing and the tofts of hair stood up straight. - </p> - <p> - The girl started a little. “I wasn’t thinking about anything—I - guess.” She looked at the stove—“They ’ll cook all to pieces if he - doesn’t come pretty quick,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “He’s coming.” Uncle William went to the window. “He’s right up the road a - piece—You ain’t had time to get homesick, have you, Celia?” He was - standing with his back to her. - </p> - <p> - “No, sir—Is that man coming, too?” - </p> - <p> - “That man—?” Uncle William wheeled about.... “Oh, George? You mean - George Manning, I guess.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s his name—the one that was up there this morning—fussing - around.” Uncle William nodded, his shrewd eyes on the little curls that - were bending over the sink. “That’s George Manning—He’s a nice boy,” - he added, seating himself on the lounge. “He’s a putty good boy—George - is.” - </p> - <p> - Her interest was absorbed in something in the kettle on the stove—that - steamed and swirled about her. She took a fork and tested it tenderly. - Then she glanced at the window. “He’s coming—Mr. Bodet—You go - show him where to wash—while I take up the dumplings—” She - lifted the kettle, and Uncle William went meekly to the door. “You wash up - out here, Benjy,” said Uncle William. He waved his hand at the toilet - articles ranged on the bench by the door—“It’s a nice place, you see—soap, - and there’s your towel.... She ’ll let us come in rainy days and cold - days, maybe,” he said thoughtfully. - </p> - <p> - Bodet gave a dry chuckle. “Suits <i>me</i>,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s face lightened. “I don’t mind a mite myself—” he - explained, “but I was kind o’ ’fraid you ’d want to be inside—where - folks can’t see you doing things so.” - </p> - <p> - “Never!” said Bodet, “—with the sky for a ceiling and the clouds for - frescoes—what more could a man want?” He waved his towel briskly at - the landscape. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William tiptoed back to the house. “He likes it—out there,” he - said. - </p> - <p> - Her face twinkled and she set the dumplings on the table with a brisk - movement. “He’s a nice man,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “You comin’, Benjy?” called Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - While they ate, the handmaiden flitted in and out. She looked out for - their wants and washed pots and kettles on the bench by the door and - hummed bits of song—and once a little whistle was wafted in the door—but - it stopped suddenly, as if quick fingers had cut it off. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at Benjy and chuckled. “Some like having a canary - around, ain’t it? Kind o’ bubbles and goes along by itself!—She - likes doin’ ’em,” he added. “The’s a lot of comfort having folks around - you that <i>like</i> doin’ things.... Now, Harr’et—you ain’t ever - seen the way Harr’et does ’em, hev you?” - </p> - <p> - Bodet shook his head. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William smiled, looking at something in his mind. “Harr’et don’t - really like doin’ ’em,” he said confidingly, “I’ve seen her look at the - bottom of a pan as if she hated it, kind of.... She gets ’em clean, you - know, but she don’t really enjoy her cleanness—not really.... If - you’re down there a spell, watchin’ her and kind o’ settin’ round—you - get to feelin’ ’s if nobody ’d o’t to live—men-folks, special.... I - do’ ’no’ <i>what</i> it is about her,” said Uncle William reflectively—“about - Harr’et.... She’s kind o’ straight in the back and her shoulders don’t - bend much.... Seems’s if the’ was suthin’ wrong about a woman—an old - woman like Harr’et—if her shoulders don’t give a <i>little</i>.” He - sat looking before him.... “The’s suthin’ about ’em, I do’ ’no’ what it is—about - women—when their shoulders get a little mite bent, that makes me - feel happy inside—Seems ’s if the Lord had made ’em that way - a-purpose—kind o’ gentle-like, you know—so ’s ’t they could - bend easy—and stay kind o’ curved over, and not mind. I’ve set and - watched ’em in meetin’, a good many times, when they didn’t know I was - looking—and I’ve took a sight o’ comfort with ’em.” - </p> - <p> - Bodet looked at him critically. “I don’t see that <i>you</i> bend very - much, William.” Uncle William’s broad shoulders spread themselves and he - drew a deep breath. “That’s different, Benjy.... Men hadn’t o’t to bend—not - without they have rheumatism or cramps and things.” - </p> - <p> - Celia whisked in at the door and out. Benjy’s eye followed her and - returned to William. - </p> - <p> - “I know what you’re thinkin’, Benjy,” said Uncle William. “She’s straight - as one o’ them rushes, up ’t the pond—and she ought to be.... She - won’t bend for a spell yet—she’s got to know things first—Hello!—There’s - George!” - </p> - <p> - They pushed back from the table and went outside. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE three men - looked across the harbor—far in the distance something troubled the - surface of the water—as if a bit of the dusk had fallen on it and - traveled with little restless waves. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s eye grew round.... “Mackerel!” he said solemnly. - </p> - <p> - “Been schooling all day,” answered Manning. His teeth closed on the bit of - grass between them and held it hard. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at him sympathetically. “Any luck?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “Bergen seven barrel—and Thompson about three, I guess. He set for a - big school, but they got away—all but the tail end.... They’re - running shy.” - </p> - <p> - “They’ve been bothered down below,” said Uncle William. “That’s why - they’re here so early, like enough—It’s much as your life is worth—being - a mackerel these days—Steve get any?” - </p> - <p> - Manning shook his head. “He started out—soon as Uncle Noah give the - word—Uncle Noah ’d been up on the cliffs since daylight, you know—smelled - ’em comin’, I guess.” Manning smiled. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William nodded. “He’s part mackerel, anyway, Noah is—Went out, - I suppose?” - </p> - <p> - “Everybody went—except me.” The young man’s eye was gloomy. “That’s - a big school.” His hand moved toward the harbor and the reddish bit of - dusk glinting on it. - </p> - <p> - “Too late tonight,” said Uncle William. He felt in his pockets—“Now, - where ’d I put that paper—must ’a’ left it inside—You go look, - George—a kind o’ crumpled up paper—with figgers on it.” He - felt again in his pocket and the young man went obediently toward the - door. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s eye sought Benjy’s. “It ’ll take him quite a few minutes - to find it, I reckon,” he said placidly. - </p> - <p> - “Isn’t it there?” - </p> - <p> - “Well—it’s there if it’s anywheres, I guess—” His eye returned - to the water. “It’s a dretful pity George can’t go—He’s just aching - to—You can see that plain enough—” - </p> - <p> - “He ’ll make more money,” said Bodet decisively, “—working on my - house.” - </p> - <p> - “Well—I do’ ’no’ ’bout that—He ’d make a good many hunderd out - there—” Uncle William motioned to the harbor, “a good many hunderd—if - he had luck—” - </p> - <p> - “He ’ll make a good many hundred on the house. It’s steady work—and - sure pay,” said Bodet. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William smiled. “I reckon that’s what’s the matter with it—The - ’s suthin’ dretful unsatisfyin’ about sure pay.” Bodet smiled skeptically. - </p> - <p> - “You don’t understand about mackerel, Benjy, I guess—the mackerel - feelin’.” Uncle William’s eye rested affectionately on the water.... - “The’s suthin’ about it—out there—” He waved his hand—“Suthin’ - ’t keeps sayin’, ’Come and find me—Come and find me—’ kind o’ - low like. Why, some days I go out and sail around—just sail around. - Don’t ketch anything—don’t try to, you know—just sail right - out.... You ain’t ever felt it, I guess?” - </p> - <p> - Benjy shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “I kind o’ knew you hadn’t.... You’ve al’ays had things—had ’em done - for ye—on dry land—It’s all right... and you’ve got things—” - Uncle William looked at him admiringly, “Things ’t George and me won’t - ever get, like enough.” He smiled on him affectionately, “But we wouldn’t - swap with ye, Benjy.” - </p> - <p> - “Wouldn’t swap what?” asked Bodet. His little laugh teased the words—“You - haven’t got anything—as far as I see—to swap—just a - sense that there’s something you won’t ever get.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William nodded. “That’s it, Benjy! You see it—don’t you?—Suthin’ - ’t I can’t get—can’t <i>ever</i> get,” he looked far out over the - water... “and some day I’ll sail out there and ketch—twenty barrel, - like enough—and bring ’em in, and it’s all hurrah-boys down ’t the - dock—and sayin’ ’How many ’d you get?’ and ’How ’d you do it?’ and - runnin’ and fussin’—and then, come along toward night, and it ’ll - get kind o’ big and dark out there... and I’ll forget all about the twenty - barrel and about gettin’ money for ’em sensible—I’ll just want to - heave ’em out and go again.” Uncle William paused—drawing a big sigh - from some deep place.... “That’s the way George feels, I reckon.... If he - stays and works on your house, Benjy—’twon’t be because he wants - money.” - </p> - <p> - The young man appeared in the door—“I can’t find any paper in here,” - he said. There was a little note of defiance in the words and the color in - his face was dear scarlet. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at him quizzically. “Maybe you didn’t look in the - right place, Georgie,” he said. “We’re coming right in, anyway.” - </p> - <p> - In the clear, soft dusk of the room Celia’s face had a dancing look. She - stood by the sink, her dish towel caught across her arm and her chin - lifted a little as if she were listening to something pleasant—that - no one had said. She turned away—hanging up the towel and brushing - off the top of the stove with emphatic little movements and a far-away - face. - </p> - <p> - “Now, maybe I left that figgering up to Benjy’s.” Uncle William glanced - casually about him. “You sit down, George, and I’ll look around a little - for it.” He fumbled with some papers by the window and went into the - bedroom and came out, humming gently to himself. He glanced at the two men - who sat on the red lounge—The younger one had drawn some lines on a - scrap of paper and was leaning forward talking earnestly—his hat on - the floor beside him and his hair pushed carelessly back. He had forgotten - the room—and Uncle William—and all the little movements that - danced. His fingers moved with the terse, short words, drawing new lines - on the paper and crossing them out and drawing new ones. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s placid face held no comment. “‘D you see a piece of paper, - Celia!” he asked, “—a kind of crumpled-up piece!” - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. Her eyes were on the two figures on the lounge and on - Juno, who rose and stretched herself, drawing her feet together and - yawning high and opening her pink-curved tongue. “I left some scraps for - her—on the plate by the sink,” said Celia in a low voice. She untied - her apron and hung it by the door. Then she put on her hat and a light - jacket and stood looking about her—as if there might be something in - the red room—something that would keep her a minute longer. - </p> - <p> - “Set down, Celia,” suggested Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve got to go,” she said. She moved a little, toward the door. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William bustled about and knocked down the tongs and three or four - sticks of wood, and picked them up. He grumbled a little. Bodet looked up, - with a smile. “What’s the matter, William!” - </p> - <p> - Manning got to his feet, crowding the scrap of paper into his pocket, - “I’ll have to go,” he said. “It’s getting late.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, yes—’tis kind o’ late—” assented Uncle William: “Gets - late dretful early, these days.... If you’re going right along, George, - you might’s well walk along with Celia—so ’s ’t the’ won’t anything - happen to her—” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t need anyone,” said the girl quickly, “I’ve got my lantern.” She - held it out. - </p> - <p> - The young man searched for his hat. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t need any company,” repeated the girl. She passed quickly from the - open door and vanished. - </p> - <p> - George stood up, gazing after her light flickering on the path. He had - found his hat and was twirling it in stiff slow fingers. - </p> - <p> - “Run along, George,” said Uncle William kindly. “You can ketch her, easy.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t run after any girl,” said George. There was a deep glint in his - eye. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at it and then at the lantern, flicking and dancing - on the path. He stepped to the door. “O-ho! Celia!” he called sternly. - </p> - <p> - The light wavered a little and paused and danced.... Then it went on. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William stepped out into the night. “Cel-i-a!” he called and his big - voice boomed over the rocks. The lantern stopped. It came back—with - little wavering steps and halted before him. - </p> - <p> - “What ’d you go running off like that for?” - </p> - <p> - Her face, above the lantern, was demure. “I didn’t run,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Well, you might jest as well ’a’ run—I wanted you to take suthin’ - for me.” Uncle William was feeling about in the darkness by the door. - </p> - <p> - “Oh—I didn’t know—” Her voice was very contrite now, and meek. - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t suppose you knew—but you could ’a’ waited.... Here they - be!” He dragged forward a heavy sack of potatoes and untied the neck—“I - told Harr’et I’d send her down a mess of new potatoes for breakfast,” he - said. He dipped into the sack with generous hand—filling a basket - that stood by the door. - </p> - <p> - The girl looked at it with round eyes. - </p> - <p> - “You ’d just as lives carry it along, wouldn’t you, Celia?” - </p> - <p> - She reached out her hand and lifted it a little. Then she looked at him. - </p> - <p> - “Like enough you need a little help with it,” said Uncle William wickedly. - “Oh—George—” he stepped to the door. “You just give Celia a - lift with this basket, won’t you!—It’s a little mite heavy for her.” - </p> - <p> - The young man appeared in the door. He lifted the basket with decisive - hand and held out the other—“I’ll take that lantern,” he said. - </p> - <p> - She hesitated an instant—holding it a little behind her. Then she - gave it up. “I can carry lanterns well enough.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll take it,” replied George. He strode away over the rocks and she - followed with little tripping steps that half ran to keep up. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William, standing by the open door, followed the flicker of the - lantern with benignant eye—Then he went into the house. “Sent - Harr’et quite a mess of potatoes,” he said comfortably. - </p> - <p> - Benjy looked at him. “—Not the new ones,” he said quickly. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William nodded. “I kind o’ felt as if suthin’ had to be sent to - Harr’et, and that bag of potatoes was the fust thing I laid hold of.” He - chuckled a little. “She ’ll be some s’prised, I guess—s’prised <i>and</i> - pleased—Harr’et will—to get a new mess of potatoes and all—and - not having to pay for ’em, or anything,” said Uncle William thoughtfully. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XIV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>ERE you be, Juno!” - Uncle William set the plate of scraps on the floor, and Juno walked across - with leisurely gait. - </p> - <p> - He watched her a moment, smiling—then he reached for his lantern. - “Guess I’d better go see ’t everything’s all right,” he said. “I’ve got to - make a putty early start.” - </p> - <p> - Bodet looked at him inquiringly. “Where are you going?” - </p> - <p> - “Now?—Down to see t’ the Jennie.” - </p> - <p> - “You’re not going out?” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William laughed. “Not tonight, Benjy—I jest want to get a - start, you know—have things ready.” He lighted the lantern and threw - the match on the floor. - </p> - <p> - Benjy watched him soberly. “You ’ll be gone a week, I suppose.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I do’ ’no’.” Uncle William put his lantern on the floor and sat - down. “I come in every day—Soon’s I get a catch.” - </p> - <p> - Bodet scowled at his cigarette—and threw it aside. “It’s the last - I’ll see of you—this season.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William crossed his legs. “Won’t run more ’n a day or two, mebbe,” - he said consolingly. “You can’t tell about mackerel. You look out and see - little patches of ’em wrinkling around and the next day you won’t see a - wrinkle.” His hand felt for its lantern. - </p> - <p> - Bodet’s eye was on the clock. Suddenly he got up and crossed over to it - and took down something, almost tucked in around behind the dock. He - glared at it a minute and threw it on the table. “It’s a letter!” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Why, so ’tis!” Uncle William leaned forward with a pleased look of - interest. “Celia didn’t tell us about it, did she?” He looked at Benjy for - sympathy. But there was no sympathy in Benjy’s eye.-He lifted the letter - and tore it open—“It might have lain there a week,” he said sternly. - </p> - <p> - “Like enough ’t would—if you hadn’t seen it. You’ve got terrible - good eyes, Benjy.” Uncle William all but patted him on the back. - </p> - <p> - Benjy shrugged his shoulders. His eyes ran over the letter—“It’s - from the children. You want to read it—now?” He was holding it out. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked down at his lantern. He took it up.... Then he looked - at the letter. “I kind o’ hate to have you read it first—without - me.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll wait,” said Bodet obligingly. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William shook his head. “I do’ ’no ’s we ’d better wait.” He blew - gently into his lantern and set it down. “Might as well have it whilst we - can....I’ve come to think that’s the best way, mebbe. The’s two-three - things I didn’t take when I could ’a’ got ’em—easy. They’ve been - always tagging me around since.” He settled a little more comfortably in - his chair and stretched his big legs. “Go ahead, Benjy,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Bodet fixed his glasses on his nose and cleared his throat. Juno jumped on - Uncle William’s knee, and his hand traveled thoughtfully up and down the - grey back while the letter was being read. - </p> - <p> - A pleased, puzzled look held his face—“Goin’ right to Russia, be - they? I can’t seem to understand that, Benjy—What was it she said?” - </p> - <p> - Bodet turned back and found the place. - </p> - <p> - <i>“We have decided to go straight to St. Petersburg and then to Vilna, - taking a house and spending the winter. Captain Spaulding will take the - boat around to Yokohama and we shall join him in the spring—going - overland.’.</i> - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s face still held its puzzled look—“They won’t touch - Iceland... nor Norway ’n’ Sweden?” He shook his head. “Jumped the whole - thing—far as I see—Europe, Asia ’n’ Africa, <i>and</i> the - Pacific Isles.... Now, what do you suppose they’re up to, doin’ that, - Benjy?” He looked at him anxiously. - </p> - <p> - Bodet folded the letter in his slim fingers and creased it a little. - “Perhaps she was homesick—thought how good it would seem to have a - home for a little while again.” - </p> - <p> - “Mebbe she did...” Uncle William lighted the lantern, peering at it with - shrewd, wrinkled eyes. “Don’t you set up for me, Benjy.” He looked at him - kindly. “The ’ll be a moon, byme-by, you know—Like as not I’ll be - putterin’ round quite a spell. You go to bed.” - </p> - <p> - “Well—I’ll see.” Bodet had taken up the newspaper and was scanning - the lines—his glasses perched high. Juno, on the floor beside him, - looked up as if she would like to be invited. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at them both affectionately. Then he stepped out into - the night, closing the door with gentle touch. - </p> - <p> - The night was softly dark, with high stars, and a little breeze blew up - from the water.... His lantern swung down the path—his great legs - keeping shadowy time to it. Now and then he paused, listening to the - little waves that splashed up below, and drawing deep, full breaths of the - darkness. He looked up to the stars and his face cleared. The little - puzzled look that had come into it with the reading of the letter - disappeared. He hummed to himself, as he went, little booming songs that - began, and broke off, and ended nowhere—traveling along ahead.... - </p> - <p> - On the beach he disappeared into the little black fish-house and came out - bearing a great net that he stowed away in the dory, folding it down in - under with watchful eye. He swung his lantern over the mound of net and - gave a little running push and leaped in.... The oars in the thole-pins - creaked and chugged, as he faded out in the night, and little - phosphorescent gleams waked up along the water and ran in flocks behind - him. - </p> - <p> - He rowed steadily out, his eyes on the stars. The night held a stillness—somewhere, - through it, a voice might come. He held the boat, dipping the oars lightly - and bending his head. He often waited—in the darkness or off on the - moor.... Little sounds came—vague stirrings of quiet—and off a - little way, the lights on the fishing boats bobbed at anchor. He dipped - his oars and rowed again—long, restful pulls that drew on the - strength of the night.... Alongside, in a minute, the stem of the Jennie - loomed mistily and Uncle William scrambled aboard, fastening the dory and - hanging his lantern to the mast—It threw its swaying light on the - big figure as it moved about the boat. Over the eastern rim of hill the - sky grew mysteriously thin and glowed—and a flood of light dropped - on the harbor. The water darkened and the distant boats grew to shapes as - the moon rose high, filling herself with light. Uncle William looked up. - He put down the coil of rope he was stowing away and leaned back, looking - at the clear, yellow ball riding over the hill. His eye traveled to the - water and to the dim boats shaping themselves out of the dusk.... A - contented smile held the big face.... He had been thinking of Sergia and - Alan and his thoughts traveled again—following the track of the - moon, out over the water, across the ocean—stretching to Russia and - the far east.... Slowly the look grew in his face—a little wonder - and a laugh. Then he sat up, looking about him. The filtering moonshine - played on his face and he laughed—with low, quiet chuckles—and - fell to work, giving the last touches to the boat—making things - fast. He rowed back in slow silence. Along the beach, as he came near, - little black shapes stood up and greeted him—lobster traps and - barrels piled high, ends of dories, and boxes washed by the tide, and - fantastic sprawls of net and seaweed. Uncle William stepped among them, - with long, high step, and the smile still played on his face. Up on the - cliff he could see the red glow of the window. Benjy might be up—might - be awake.... Uncle William quickened his steps— - </p> - <p> - The man looked up with a satisfied, drowsy smile. The paper had dropped - from his hand and his head was bent a little toward it. Uncle William - nodded to him and hung up the lantern. “I’ve thought of something.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you?” Bodet sat up, yawning a light breath and feeling for his - glasses. He put them on his nose and looked at William. “You were gone - long enough to think,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Yes—I was gone—quite a spell. I got to looking round,” said - Uncle William. “Time gets away putty fast when you’re looking round and - kind o’ thinkin’.” He chuckled again, with the big, kind smile that - flooded his face. “What do you reckon made them want to go straight to - Russia, Benjy?” He was looking at him shrewdly. - </p> - <p> - Bodet shook his head. “I told you I didn’t know—just a whim, perhaps—” - </p> - <p> - “Something nicer ’n a whim.... You ’d kind o’ like to think of it yourself—It - makes things big somehow—big and kind o’ goin’ on forever-like—” - His face was full of the glow now and the eyes behind the spectacles had a - misty look—like the blue of the sea when the fog is traveling in. - </p> - <p> - Bodet got up and came across to him. “What is it, William!” he said - gently. - </p> - <p> - “Just more folks on-the Island—” said Uncle William. “Little ones, - you know—travelin’ round...; The’s suthin’ about it—I do’ ’no’ - what ’t is, Benjy—but it makes you all kind o’ happy inside—thinking - there’s goin’ to be more folks always, when you’re gone—living along - in the same places and doin’ things.... I can kind o’ see ’em,” said Uncle - William slowly, “—everywheres I go—there they be—plain - as if I touched ’em. some of ’em—getting up in the morning and - havin’ breakfast and goin’ out and looking at the sun and the rocks and - the water and being happy—same as me—unhappy, too, some of the - time—thinkin’ things ought to be different.... It makes it all seem - big, don’t it, Benjy?” He reached out a hand. - </p> - <p> - The tall man took it. “So you think—?” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William nodded. “They ’ll be comin’ back some day—sailing into - the harbor—Sergia and Alan—and there ’ll be a little one - traveling with ’em. It’s al’ays the little ones,—Benjy—I do’ - ’no’ <i>what</i> the Lord made ’em that way for... they’re so kind o’ - queer and little... but I don’t ever see one of ’em runnin’ down the beach—arms - goin’ that kind o’ way they have, and hair flyin’—I don’t ever see - ’em without feelin’ real good somewheres inside. Everything breaks out all - new—lights up, you know—’s if the fog had blown off suddenlike - and you looked way out where the sun is.” Uncle William’s face held the - glory of it all, but his voice had dropped a little.... He got up and went - to the door and stepped into the night. Presently he reappeared and - crossed over to the wood-box and looked in. “Guess I’ll bring in an armful - of wood,” he said. “It might rain before morning.” - </p> - <p> - Benjy’s smile was very gentle as it followed him. “It can’t rain—a - night like this, William.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William returned to the door and Bodet followed him.... The moor was - flooded with light—a magic world, hushed and waiting under its - veil.... Uncle William’s eyes dwelt on it fondly. “I reckon I’ll bring in - the wood,” he said. “Mebbe it won’t rain. But I kind o’ like to bring in - wood when I’ve been thinkin’.” The great figure passed into the - transparent night. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span> ELIA looked up - from her work. “Did you have good luck?” - </p> - <p> - “Putty good,” said Uncle William, “Six-seven barrel, I should think.” He - stood in the doorway and cast an eye back at the beach. “I picked out some - good ones for dinner,” he said regretfully, “I must ’a’ left ’em down - there in the fish-house, or somewheres.” - </p> - <p> - Celia’s look was mild. “I’ll go down for them myself pretty quick. I’m - about through, anyway.” She swirled a little clean water into the sink and - took down a pan from its nail. “I sha ’n’t be gone long,” she said kindly - as she passed him in the doorway. - </p> - <p> - “No, the’ ain’t anybody interesting down there,” assented Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - The look in her face dimpled a little, but she made no reply. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked after her as she flitted down the path, the wind - blowing the little curls about her face, and the pan on her arm glinting - in the sun. He turned and went into the house, a contented look in his - face. “Seems’s if we had most everything,” he said comfortably. Juno came - across and rubbed against him and he stooped to pet her. Then he went into - the bedroom and came out with a plan of the new house. He spread it on the - table and sat down, studying it with pleased, shrewd smile. The clock - ticked and Juno purred into the stillness and a little breeze came in the - window, clean and fresh. By and by Uncle William pushed up his spectacles - and looked at the clock. His mouth remained open a little and he went to - the door, looking down the path. “Seems’s if she o’t to be back by now—” - He stared a little and reached for his glasses and adjusted them, and took - a long look. - </p> - <p> - A man was coming up the rocky path from the beach. He was a large man, - with a full paunch and light, soft steps. “He comes up there putty good,” - said Uncle William, watching him thoughtfully. “You can’t hurry on them - rocks.” The man had come to the top and paused to take breath, looking - back. “Holds himself kind o’ keerful on his toes,” said Uncle William, - “some ’s if he was afraid he ’d tip over and spill suthin’.... <i>I</i> do - ’no’ who he is.” - </p> - <p> - The man turned and came toward the house. He had taken off his hat, and - his bald head shone in the sun. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William stood in the doorway, looking him over with keen, benignant - eye. - </p> - <p> - “Good morning,” said the man, “Mr. Benslow, I believe?” He held out a - round hand. “My name is Carter—Milton Carter from Ipswich.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William took the hand, and looked down at the stout man. “I don’t - seem to remember your being here before?” he said. - </p> - <p> - “No—It’s my first visit to this region. I’m only here for a day or - two.” He turned, on the doorstep, and looked over the moor and rocks. “You - have a pleasant place here.” He had a smooth, flatted-out voice that gave - the words no color. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William nodded. “It’s a putty good place—Will you walk in, - sir?” - </p> - <p> - The man stepped over the sill. “I didn’t expect to go quite so far when I - started. It’s quite a walk—” He wiped his forehead. - </p> - <p> - “You come from Andy’s?” asked Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “From Halloran’s—yes, Andrew Halloran’s—You know him?” - </p> - <p> - “I know Andy,” said Uncle William. “Set down, sir.” - </p> - <p> - They sat down and looked at each other. “I was going through—” said - the man, “up the Lakes and I thought I’d stop off and look around—It’s - pleasant country about here.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it’s pleasant,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “Not much business doing, I suppose,” said the man. - </p> - <p> - “Fishing,” said Uncle William, “—mostly.” - </p> - <p> - “There’s some kind of building going on, I see—further up.” He moved - the round hand. - </p> - <p> - “That’s my friend—Benjamin Bodet,” said Uncle William. His head gave - a little lift. “He’s going to have nineteen rooms—not countin’ the - gal’ry.” He laid his hand affectionately on the blueprint spread on the - table beside him. - </p> - <p> - The man’s eyes narrowed. “I see—Seems to be quite a house,” he said - affably, “I was talking with the contractor this morning—a man by - the name of Manning—a very intelligent man,” he added kindly. - </p> - <p> - “His name’s Manning,” assented Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - The man’s eye strayed to the window. “Your friend must have considerable - land with his place—I should think?” He spoke casually. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William sat up a little. “He’s got enough to set his house on,” he - said dryly. - </p> - <p> - The man’s eyes held no rebuff. They dwelt on Uncle William kindly. “I am - interested in the region—” he admitted, “I might buy a little—a - small piece—if I found something I liked.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked him over. “I don’t believe you will,” he said, “—not - anything to suit you.... I’ve bought most of it myself,” he added. - </p> - <p> - The stranger looked at him—and then out of the window. “You don’t - own all of it—?” He gave a little wave of the round hand at the moor - and sky and rocks. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William nodded, with a pleased smile. “I bought it all—fo’-five - years ago,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The man’s mouth was very mild. “You bought it for investment, I suppose? - You put money into it—” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Uncle William, “suthin’ like that, perhaps. I put in all I - could scrape up. Some I had—and some I just wished I’d had.” - </p> - <p> - “I see—? What would you take for it?—How much did you say you - owned?” He bent toward the window. - </p> - <p> - “‘Bout a mile,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - The head withdrew itself. “A mile—! You hoped it would rise, I - suppose?” - </p> - <p> - “Well—I was more afraid someone ’d be coming along and setting on - it,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “You could sell the whole?” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “I shouldn’t care—so much—for a part of it,” said the man - thoughtfully, “But I might make you an offer—” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn’t advise you to,” said Uncle William, “I might just as well tell - ye, Mr. Carter—there ain’t money enough in this country—nor - any other—to buy that land!” Uncle William sat up. - </p> - <p> - The other man shook his head. “Land values are skittish things,” he said. - “It’s good judgment to look ahead a little.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s where I’m lookin’,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “This Bodet—” said the other smoothly, “whom did he buy of?” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William smiled. “I give him <i>his</i> piece—He’s a friend of - mine.” - </p> - <p> - “I see.” The man got to his feet, adjusting his weight nicely. - </p> - <p> - “Well, think it over, Mr. Benslow. I <i>may</i> stop over on my way back - from the Lakes and—” His hand advanced a little. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s gaze did not take it in. He was moving toward the door—and - the man moved with him—his light, smooth steps hearing him along. - “Good day, sir,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “Good morning, Mr. Benslow. I <i>may</i> stop over—on my way back.” - He moved easily off up the road and Uncle William stood watching him. - </p> - <p> - “There’s Benjy now,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - The two men stopped in the road and talked a few minutes. The fat man - moved his hand and Bodet nodded once or twice. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William watched them a little anxiously. Then he went in and - gathered up the plan. When he came ont Benjamin was approaching with - quick, long strides. - </p> - <p> - “I’m coming right along, Benjy,” said Uncle William, “I was most ready—a - man come along and hindered me a little—” - </p> - <p> - “Who is he?” said Bodet. - </p> - <p> - “His name is Carter—I reckon he’s real-estate,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “I ’reckon’ he is—Maiming told me and I came right down. What did he - offer you?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, he didn’t exactly offer—I kind o’ held him off. But I guess - he ’d ’a’ gone high—” Uncle William’s mouth closed in a happy smile. - “‘<i>Tis</i> a nice island. I don’t wonder ’t folks want to come to it—But - they can’t,” he added gently, “The’ ain’t room. - </p> - <p> - “I ’most hope he won’t see Andy,” he added after a minute, “Andy’s got a - little piece—down to the east there—kind of out of sight, you - know, that I didn’t buy.” - </p> - <p> - “I bought that piece last week,” said Bodet. - </p> - <p> - “You did!—How ’d you come to get it, Benjy?” - </p> - <p> - “The same way you got yours, I guess. I offered him a little more than he - would stand.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William smiled.... “And I suppose likely this man ’ll go higher ’n - <i>you</i> did?” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose he will.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William chuckled. “Poor Andy!” - </p> - <p> - “He’s ready to buy anything in sight you know,” said Bodet restlessly. - </p> - <p> - “The’ ain’t very much in sight, is there?” said Uncle William, “—except - what I own.” He cast a proud eye over his acres. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve been thinking, William—” - </p> - <p> - Bodet looked at him keenly, “why don’t you turn it over to me—the - whole of it? I told you I’d give you twenty thousand,—I’ll give you - thirty—more if you say so—and you can live on it just the - same?” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William shook his head. “I couldn’t do it, Benjy. I reckon the Lord - cal’lated I’d buy up a mile—so’s to keep it from being cut up in - little fiddling bits—and I guess I’ve got to hold on to it. I’d like - to have thirty thousand,” he said reflectively, “The’s two-three little - things I could do with thirty thousand—!” - </p> - <p> - Bodet smiled. “You ought to have it—whether you deed me the land or - not—I have just as much good of it as you do.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you enjoy it—some,” admitted William. - </p> - <p> - “Well—I’m going to hand over the interest to you—pay your - living—if you ’ll let me?” He looked at Uncle William curiously. - There were new regions in Uncle William, perhaps—at least the - thirty-thousand-dollar region was unexplored as yet. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William surveyed the offer with impartial eye. “You can pay my - livin’ if you want to, Benjy—I’ve gen ’lly paid it myself, but I’d - just as lives <i>you</i> did, if you want to—or I’d pay yours.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XVI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>NDY was subdued - after the real-estate man’s visit. “You and Benjy might sell me back - some,” he suggested. He was sitting in Uncle William’s door, looking out - over the moor. Uncle William was busy inside. - </p> - <p> - He came and stood in the doorway, his spectacles on his forehead, and - looked at the landscape. “What ’d you do with it, Andy—if we give it - back to you?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “I’d sell it to that Carter man—quick as scat—’fore he changed - his mind.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked down at him. Then he looked at the moor. - </p> - <p> - “It’s val’able property,” said Andy. - </p> - <p> - “I do’ ’no’ as I know what val’able property is.” Uncle William’s eyes - rested fondly on the moor, with its rocks and tufted growth and the clear, - free line of sky. - </p> - <p> - “Val’able property?” said Andy. He gazed about him a little. “Val’able - property’s suthin’ you’ve got that somebody else wants and ’ll pay money - for—right off—That’s what I call val’able property.” - </p> - <p> - The clouds were riding up the horizon—the breeze from the moor blew - in and the cloud shadows sailed across. Uncle William lifted his face a - little. “Seems to me anything’s val’able ’t you kind o’ love and take - comfort with,” he said slowly. - </p> - <p> - Andy grunted. “Guess I’ll go ’long up the road,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Up to Benjy’s?” Uncle William looked at him wistfully. “I told Benjy <i>I</i> - was coming up,” he said, “But it’s kind o’ late—” He looked at the - sun, “and it’s warm, too.” - </p> - <p> - Andy made no reply. - </p> - <p> - “I reckon I’ll go ’long with you,” said Uncle William—“You wait a - minute whilst I get my plans.” - </p> - <p> - They went up the road together in the clear light, the sun shining hot on - their backs. The little breeze had died out and the clouds were drifting - toward the horizon. Uncle William glanced wistfully at a big rock by the - roadside. “We might set down a spell,” he suggested. He moved toward the - rock. “I’ve been stirring since daylight,” he said, “It don’t seem quite - right to keep goin’ every minute so. Benjy’s a pretty active man—for - his years,” he added. He seated himself on the rock and stretched his - great legs in the sun—He drew a long breath. “I do take a sight o’ - comfort—not doin’ things,” he said. “Set down, Andy.” He patted the - rock beside him. - </p> - <p> - Andy glanced at the sun. “We ’ll be late,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, we ’ll be late, like enough. Smells good up here, don’t it!” Uncle - William snuffed the salt air with relish. “I al’ays like to stop along - here somewheres. It makes a putty good half-way place.” - </p> - <p> - Andy sat down. “Benjy’s wastin’ time on that house of his,” he said - glumly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he’s wastin’ time.” Uncle William looked about him placidly. “Benjy - don’t mind time—nor wastin’ it. What he wants is a house that he - wants. I do’ ’no’s I blame him for that—I like a house that suits - me, too.” His eye traveled back to the little house perched comfortably on - its rocks. - </p> - <p> - Andy’s face held no comment. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William sighed a little. “You can’t help wantin’ things the way you - want ’em,” he said. “And Benjy ain’t ever been married—no more ’n - me. Now, <i>you’ve</i> been married—” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I’ve been married—a good many year,” said Andy sombrely. - </p> - <p> - “That’s it! An’ <i>you</i> know what ’tis to want things—’t you - can’t have! But Benjy ’n’ me—” Uncle William looked around him—at - the great rocks on either side and the big, cloudless sky and the road - running to the horizon and dipping beyond—“Me and Benjy—we’ve - missed it—somehow.” - </p> - <p> - Andy cast a scornful eye at him. But his face, set toward the horizon - line, was non-committal. - </p> - <p> - “I can see it in Benjy plainer ’n I can in me,” went on Uncle William, - “how it acts—wanting things jest so—and kind o’ dancing all - round if you can’t have ’em.... I reckon that’s what marryin ’s for—to - kind o’ steady ye like—ballast, you know. You can’t ride quite so - high, maybe, but you can steer better...” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Somebody</i>’.l steer,” said Andy. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William cast the flick of a smile at him. “Well, you wouldn’t want - <i>two</i> captains, Andy—not on the same boat, would ye? That’s - what makes all the trouble, I reckon—” he went on thoughtfully, - “wantin’ to go two ways to once. Seems ’f folks didn’t know <i>what</i> - they got married for—some of ’em.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, <i>I</i> do ’no’,” said Andy without enthusiasm. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at him with a quiet smile. “You wouldn’t want to get - a divorce, would you, Andy?” - </p> - <p> - “Lord, no!” said Andy. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s smile grew deeper. “I reckoned you ’d feel that way—Seems - ’f the rivets all kind o’ loosen up—when folks talk about separatin’ - and divorce and so on—things get kind o’ shackly-like and wobble - some.” - </p> - <p> - Andy grinned. “They don’t wobble down to our house. I’d like to see - Harriet wobblin’ a minute—for once.” - </p> - <p> - “No, Harr’et’s firm,” said Uncle William. “An’ I guess you really like it - better that way.” He spoke encouragingly. - </p> - <p> - “You have to settle down to it when you’re married,” went on Uncle - William, “settle down comfortable-like—find the easy spots and kind - o’ make for ’em. It’s like the weather, I reckon—you expect <i>some</i> - weather—rain and thunder and so on.” Uncle William’s gaze rested - contentedly on the cloudless, far-reaching sky.... “We ’d grumble a - little, I guess—any way you ’d fix it.... But we wouldn’t want - biling-hot sunshine <i>all</i> the time. Why, climates where they have - that kind o’ weather—” Uncle William sat up, looking about him, - “It’s terrible tryin’—dust and fleas and scorpions—and it’s - dreadful dull living, too.... I like a good deal of weather myself. It - keeps things movin’—suthin’ to pay attention to.” - </p> - <p> - “What’s that you’ve got in your pocket?” demanded Andy, peering towards - something blue that stuck up over the edge of William’s pocket. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s hand reached down to it—“That’s the plans,” he said, - “for Benjy’s house. It’s the plans—as far as he’s got,” he added - conscientiously. - </p> - <p> - Andy’s eye turned away—grudging. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William drew out the blue paper and looked at it fondly. “I’m - helping Benjy decide what he wants—from time to time.” He spread out - the paper on his knee. - </p> - <p> - Andy turned his back and looked out to sea—sideways. - </p> - <p> - “Want to see ’em, Andy?” asked Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t care.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s a good place to see ’em.” Uncle William glanced at the flat rock. He - laid down the blue paper and smoothed the curly edges with big, careful - fingers. - </p> - <p> - “You get two-three stones, Andy—to anchor ’em down—” - </p> - <p> - Andy got up with an indifferent air and wandered off, gathering in a - handful of small rocks. - </p> - <p> - “That’s good—put one of ’em here—and one here—and here. - That’s good!” Uncle William leaned back and looked at it with simple - delight. - </p> - <p> - Andy’s air was detached. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William glanced at him. His gaze softened. “This is Benjy’s room,” - he said. His finger followed a white dotted line on the paper. - </p> - <p> - Andy bent a little. - </p> - <p> - “An’ here the lib’ry—and the gallery—” - </p> - <p> - “The what?” Andy ducked a little toward the plan. - </p> - <p> - “That’s the gallery—didn’t I tell ye, Andy?” - </p> - <p> - “No.” Andy’s mouth was open at it. - </p> - <p> - “It’s for picters, you know, and marble things—kind o’ standing - round.” - </p> - <p> - “Huh!” The mouth closed. - </p> - <p> - “It ’ll be quite nice, I reckon—when it’s done. I can see he sets - store by it—” Uncle William’s finger hovered dubiously about the - spot. “An’ this part here—all this wing—is for Sergia and him—Alan—” - </p> - <p> - “They ain’t here,” said Andy. - </p> - <p> - “But they’re going to be here sometime,” said Uncle William cheerfully. - “It ’ll be quite a fam’ly then.” He gazed at the blue paper fondly. “I do - like a fam’ly—seems kind o’ foolish to build a house and not have a - fam’ly.” - </p> - <p> - Andy said nothing. His eye was studying a corner of the plan. “What’s - that?” he demanded. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William bent to it. He lifted his face, beaming. “‘W’s room’—That’s - <i>my</i> room,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Andy glared at it. “You going to <i>live</i> there—with him!” - </p> - <p> - “Why, no, Andy—not just live there—It’s a kind o’ place for me - to stay nights, you know—if I get caught up there—stormy - weather?” Uncle William looked at him a little anxiously. - </p> - <p> - Andy got up. “I’ve got to go ’long,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s face held him sympathetically. “I was goin’ to show you - the rest of the plans,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t care about ’em,” said Andy. He moved away. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s big fingers found a stub of pencil in his pocket and - brought it out. “I was thinking, Andy—” he said slowly. - </p> - <p> - Andy turned back—a little. - </p> - <p> - “I was wondering if you ’d mind havin’ the same room as me—up to - Benjy’s?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t want no room,” said Andy. - </p> - <p> - “<i>I</i> couldn’t stay away nights.” He looked at the paper with gloomy - eye. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William wet the pencil with careful tongue and bent over the paper. - His fingers traced a large, scrawling A. “There!” He leaned back, looking - at it with satisfied gaze. “‘A and W’s room’—looks good, don’t it!” - His face beamed on Andy. - </p> - <p> - The gloom relaxed a little. “It don’t mean nothing,” said Andy. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I do’ ’no’,” said Uncle William. “It sounds nice, and when things - sound nice, seems ’s if they must mean suthin’—down underneath - somewheres.” - </p> - <p> - “Huh!” said Andy. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XVII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE real-estate man - and Andy were out behind the barn. There was a glimpse of the harbor in - the distance, and behind them the moor rose to the horizon. - </p> - <p> - The real-estate man’s little eyes scanned it. “You haven’t much land,” he - said casually. - </p> - <p> - “I own to the top—pretty near an acre,” said Andy. “And there’s the - house and barn—and the chicken-coop.” He cast an eye toward it. - </p> - <p> - A white fowl emerged and scurried across in front of them. - </p> - <p> - The man’s small eyes followed her, without interest. “I found a number of - houses down in the village,” he said smoothly, in his flat voice, “and - plenty of land—Almost any of them will sell, I fancy.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, they ’ll sell.” Andy’s eye was gloomy. “‘Most anybody around here - ’ll sell—except William,” he added thoughtfully. - </p> - <p> - The narrow eye turned on him. “How much did you say you sold to him?” - </p> - <p> - “‘Bout four hundred acre, I reckon,” said Andy. - </p> - <p> - “Five hundred dollars is what he paid you, I believe?” The man’s voice was - smooth, and patient. - </p> - <p> - Andy wriggled a little. “‘Twa ’n’t enough,” he said feebly. - </p> - <p> - “Well—I don’t know—” The man glanced about him, “I was looking - at a house down in the village this morning—eight rooms—good - roof—ten acres of land, and barn. I can have the whole thing for six - hundred.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s Gruchy’s,” said Andy quickly, “He wants to move off the Island.” - </p> - <p> - “He said he wanted to move—that’s the name—Gruchy—I’d - forgotten.” The small eyes looked off at the distant glint of water. “In - some ways I like that place better than this,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s - on the shore—” - </p> - <p> - “I’ve got a right of way,” said Andy. - </p> - <p> - “To the shore!” The man’s eyes looked at him an instant, and a little - light flicked in them, and was gone. - </p> - <p> - “It’s down here,” said Andy. He moved over to the right. “Here’s my - entrance—and it runs from here straight across to the shore. We - never measured it off—I al’ays cut across anywheres I want to. But - it’s in the deed—and anybody ’t buys the land ’ll have it.” He - looked at the other shrewdly. - </p> - <p> - “I see—” The real estate man’s gaze followed the right of way across - Uncle William’s moor. “I see—Well, of course, that makes a - difference—a <i>little</i> difference. It would be foolish to buy on - an island and not have access to the shore—I presume <i>you</i> - could buy the Gruchy place,” he suggested. - </p> - <p> - “That’s what I was thinking of,” said Andy, “—unless William wanted - to give me a little piece.” His gloomy eyes rested, almost fondly, on the - big moor that stretched away under its piled-up clouds. - </p> - <p> - “Better for business down in the village, I should think,” said the man - briskly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it’s better for business,” admitted Andy. “Only I’ve got kind of - used to it up here.” His eye sought the house. “I was born in there, you - know—and my father lived there and my grandfather.” - </p> - <p> - The real-estate man’s hand reached to his pocket and found something and - drew it out, slowly. - </p> - <p> - Andy’s eyes rested on it, fascinated. - </p> - <p> - The man seemed to hesitate. He looked down at the roll in his hand, and - half returned it to his pocket. Then he looked again, doubtfully, at the - house and barn and chicken-coop. He had turned his back on the right of - way and the horizon line above them. “I’ll tell you how it is, Mr. - Halloran—” His voice was frankly confidential—“I have taken a - liking to your place and I’d be willing to pay a little more for it than - for some place I didn’t fancy. I’m made like that.” He expanded a little. - “Now, value for value, Gruchy’s place is worth twice what yours is—and - I know it.” He looked at him narrowly. “But I’m going to offer you a - thousand dollars—five hundred down and five hundred the first of the - month—if you want to close now.” He fingered the bills a little. - </p> - <p> - Andy’s eyes grew round. “I’ll have to ask Harr’et,” he said. “She ain’t - very well.” He glanced toward a darkened window at the rear of the house—“She’s - havin’ neuralgia—off and on—I wouldn’t want to ask her when - she has it. She has a bad spell today.” He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - The other looked at him sympathetically. “I have to go to-night—and - I couldn’t be sure I’d want to offer a thousand in the morning—even - if I stayed—not if I came across something I like better.” He - returned the bills decisively to his pocket. - </p> - <p> - Andy’s glance followed them. “I don’t really <i>need</i> to ask her.” His - glance flickered. “She’s said, time and again, she ’d be glad if I’d sell. - She comes from northeast of Digby. I reckon she ’d like to go back.” - </p> - <p> - “Digby’s a fine place,” said the man. “Well, good day, Mr. Halloran. I’m - glad to have met you.” He held out a round hand. - </p> - <p> - Andy took it without enthusiasm. “I do ’no’ but I might as well sell,” he - said feebly. - </p> - <p> - The other waved it away. “Don’t think of it—not without your wife’s - consent—not if you’re accustomed to doing what she tells you.” - </p> - <p> - “I ain’t,” said Andy indignantly. - </p> - <p> - “Of course not—I only meant that you ’d be better satisfied—” - </p> - <p> - “I’m satisfied now,” said Andy. “You pay me the five hundred down, and the - place is yours.” - </p> - <p> - The man cast a cool glance at the house and barn and the white fowl - strutting before them. “Well—if you really want to sell—” He - drew the roll from his pocket and counted out the bills slowly, handing - them to Andy with careless gesture. - </p> - <p> - Andy’s hand closed about them spasmodically and he looked down at them - with half-open mouth and grinned a little. - </p> - <p> - “Now, if you ’ll sign the receipt—” The man drew a fountain pen from - his pocket and wrote a few lines rapidly. “There you are. Sign here, - please.” - </p> - <p> - Andy’s fingers found the place and rubbed it a little and traced his name - slowly. He looked at the crumpled bills, and a deep smile filled his face. - “Harr’et <i>will</i> be pleased!” he said. - </p> - <p> - “That’s good!” The real-estate man beamed on him benignantly. “Tomorrow we - will draw up the papers, and you can look about you for a place. You ’ll - find something to suit, and I sha ’n’t hurry you—Take your time.” He - moved off slowly, waving his hands in a kind of real-estate benediction, - and Andy stared after him, entranced. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, by the way—” The man came back. “I wouldn’t say anything about - it if I were you—not for a while. There are always people ready to - make trouble—and you ’ll be able to buy cheaper if they don’t know - you’ve <i>got</i> to buy.” He beamed on him. “Of course, if you have to - tell your wife—?” - </p> - <p> - “I <i>don’t</i> have to,” blurted Andy. - </p> - <p> - “All the better—all the better. The fewer women know things, the - better.” The man smiled genially, and his light, smooth steps bore him - away—out of Andy’s sight. - </p> - <p> - When he had disappeared, Andy looked down at the bills. He drew out from - his coat a large rumpled handkerchief and tied the bills skillfully in one - corner and thrust it back into his pocket. Then he walked, with firm step, - past the darkened window, into the house. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XVIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HERE was a - gathering cloud in the air—brooding, like a storm. Uncle William - looked up to it, then he went on dragging his dory down the beach to the - water’s edge. A voice sailed through the air, and he paused and looked up. - Benjy, coming down the rocky path, was signalling to him violently. Uncle - William dropped the dory and stood up. He advanced up the beach and the - two men faced each other. Great clouds were rolling up from the horizon, - and down behind them the sea boomed. - </p> - <p> - “Have you heard what’s going on?” demanded Bodet. He was breathing a - little grimly. - </p> - <p> - “I kind o’ got it out of Andy this morning,” admitted Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - Bodet looked at him in silence. - </p> - <p> - “I do’ ’no’ why I didn’t get the idee sooner,” went on Uncle William. - “Their lumber must have been lying around here fo-five days, now. But - you’ve had such a lot of stuff clutterin’ up the dock, that I didn’t take - no notice. I do’ ’no’ ’s I’d ’a’ seen it this morning—only Andy - looked so kind o’ queer and meachin’ down ’t the dock—that I said - plain out to him, I said, ’What you been doing, Andy?’ An’ he had to tell - me. He hated to—like pizen. Uncle William smiled a little. I told - him he ’d been putty foolish,” he added slowly. - </p> - <p> - “Foolish!” Bodet fizzed. “It’s a crime! Building a hotel!—up there!” - He waved his hand up over the great cliffs. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked up to them with kindly eye. “‘Tain’t a hotel—exactly—” - </p> - <p> - “Seventy-five rooms,” said Bodet. - </p> - <p> - “‘Tis a good many,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “Traipsing all over the place—I’ll shoot ’em,” said Bodet savagely. - </p> - <p> - “Shootin’ won’t do any good, Benjy.” Uncle William was mild. “<i>I</i> - thought about shootin’ ’em myself—whilst I was bein’ mad this - mornin’.” - </p> - <p> - “They sha ’n’t step on my land—nor yours,” said Bodet. “Do you think - I’d have come up here—to the ends of the earth—to be tramped - on?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, no, Benjy—an’ you ain’t goin’ to be tramped on.” Uncle - William’s voice was soothing. “But, you see—they’ve got a <i>right</i> - to go acrost your land, and across mine.” - </p> - <p> - Bodet looked at him. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead - and put the handkerchief back. “What do you mean William?” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Set down, Benjy.” Uncle William found a convenient rock. “It’s in the - deed. You see, Andy, he wanted it that way and I never thought much about - it, one way or the other—I reckon he wouldn’t ever ’a’ sold it - without,” Uncle William added slowly. “Anyway I give it to him, and it - runs right by your place—near as I can make out. I’ve been kind o’ - thinking about it since I found out.” - </p> - <p> - Benjy groaned a little. - </p> - <p> - “I know jest how you feel, Benjy.” Uncle William’s voice held a deep note - in in it, “—about rusticators, and havin’ ’em go by your windows, - all hours, day and night, a-gabbling and so kind o’ cheerful-like. I do’ - ’no’ ’s I could stand it myself.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not going to stand it,” said Bodet, “I’ll sell out—leave the - Island.” - </p> - <p> - “Mebbe that’s what he wants—what he’s countin’ on,” said William - slowly. Benjy glared at him. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t you worry, Benjy.” Uncle William looked out to sea where the big - waves tumbled under the wind and the whitecaps gathered and bobbed and - rode high—“Don’t you holler ’fore you’re hurt. The’ ain’t anybody - gone past your windows yet.... I’m figgerin’ on it,” went on Uncle - William, “an’ I can’t stan’ it, no more ’n you can—to have ’em - a-settin’ on the beach here—” Uncle William’s gaze dwelt on it - fondly. “‘Twouldn’t be the same place—if I’d got to look up, any - minute, and see two-three of ’em settin’, or kind o’ gettin’ into the - boats, and squealin’.... It’s partly the clo’es, I reckon,” said Uncle - William after a minute, “—the women’s things like men’s—and - the men’s like women’s. Can’t tell which from ’tother, half the time. Look - up, and see a hat and coat and shoes, mebbe, and think it’s a man and get - your mind all fixed for a man—and it turns into a woman.... There - was a young man over to Pie Beach one summer,” said Uncle William slowly, - “that had a green veil onto his hat. I’d hate to have a young man with a - green veil a-settin’ on my beach.” - </p> - <p> - Bodet snorted. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William cast a mild eye at him. “They’re nice folks, too—some - of ’em,” he said conscientiously, “and they’re always polite. They talk to - me real kind—and encouraging.” His eyes rested on the dark horizon - line beyond the tumbling waves. “But the’s suthin’ queer about the way I - feel when I’m talking with ’em. They’re polite and I’m polite—real - polite, for me. But sometimes, when we’re a-settin’ here—as close as - you be—and talkin’ real comfortable, I get to feelin’ ’s if I was - alongside a chasm—kind of a big, deep place like—and standin’ - on tiptoe, shouting to ’em.” Uncle William wiped his forehead. “I gen’ally - go out and sail a spell after I’ve talked to ’em,” he added. Bodet laughed - ont. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William smiled. “Now, don’t you mind, Benjy. I’m figgerin’ on it. I - reckon we ’ll manage to live along—somehow.” - </p> - <p> - “The place is his,” said Bodet, “bought and paid for—” - </p> - <p> - “A thousand dollars,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - Bodet looked at him—then he groaned softly. “And he ’ll use your - land, and mine, for a door-yard—and the beach for a sand-pile. All - he needs is land enough to build his hotel on—and he’s got it.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he’s got it,” admitted William, “and they must have quite a piece of - building done, by this time—They’re adding on and raising up, Andy - said.” Uncle William got to his feet. “I reckon I’ll go take a look at - it.” He glanced at the harbor. “No kind o’ day to fish—George - Manning working?” he asked casually. - </p> - <p> - “Yes—he’s working.” Bodet’s tone was a little stiff. - </p> - <p> - “Um-m—” Uncle William moved off a little distance. He drew his dory - up the beach, and pottered about a little. “I was just going out to see to - the <i>Jennie</i>,” he said. “But she’s all right—and mebbe it ’ll - blow over.” He looked up at the sky. “I o’t to get some things down ’t the - store—” He felt in his pockets. “You got any money, Benjy?” - </p> - <p> - Benjy shook his head. “I can give you a cheque if you want it.” There was - a little, quizzical smile with the words. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William paused, his hand half drawn from his pocket—a light - filled his face, and a little laugh. “That ’ll do, Benjy—that ’ll do - fust-rate,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Bodet drew out his cheque book and opened it. “How much do you want!” he - asked. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William paused. He looked at the cliffs, and at the sky—“I - might want a considabul,” he said slowly—“Couldn’t you just sign - your name down there, Benjy, the way you do, and let me get what I need?” - </p> - <p> - Bodet looked at him a minute. Then he signed the cheque and handed it to - him—a little smile in his eyes. “Tell me what you make it,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I’ll tell you,” said Uncle William cordially. “I’d tell you now—only - I don’t know how much it ’ll cost—what I’m going to buy.” He moved - off up the beach. - </p> - <p> - At the foot of the cliff he paused and looked back. “Mebbe I’ll see - Harriet,” he said. “Her temper ain’t good. But she’s firm, and she’s got - sense.” - </p> - <p> - Bodet shook his head. “The thing is tied tight, William. I looked into it - before I came down.” - </p> - <p> - “‘D you see Moseley?” said William. “He could tell ye. He knows the Island—and - everybody on it.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I saw him. He said the papers were drawn and signed—two weeks - ago—in his office. You’re not dealing with Andy—this time, - William.” - </p> - <p> - “I guess I’ll go see Harr’et,” said Uncle William cheerfully. “And don’t - you worry, Benjy. The’ ain’t nobody going to set on your land without you - want ’em to—it ain’t right—and it ain’t goin’ to be.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William smiled—a great, reassuring smile—and mounted the - zigzag path to the cliff. For a minute his figure loomed against the sky - at the top. Then it disappeared over the edge, headed toward Andy’s house. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XIX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE large man came - softly along the beach, treading with light, smooth steps. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William, mending his net, did not look up. - </p> - <p> - The man paused beside him, and looked about—with pleased, expansive - eye. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s glance rested on him. - </p> - <p> - The man looked down. “Good morning, Mr. Benslow—I’ve come back, you - see.” - </p> - <p> - “I see ye,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - The man filled his chest. “I’ve come to see how they’re getting on—over - at my place. I bought a small piece, of Halloran, you know—You heard - about it, I presume?” - </p> - <p> - “Andy said suthin’ about your wantin’ to buy of him,” said Uncle William - discreetly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I bought his house and what land goes with it. It’s small—but - there didn’t seem to be much land for sale around here—” He dropped - a casual eye in Uncle William’s direction. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s face was placid. - </p> - <p> - “I’m building a little,” said the man. - </p> - <p> - “So I heard tell,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “It’s a great place,” said the man. His chest expanded a little more. “I - shall advertise, of course, and I expect a good class of patrons for this - place.” He balanced himself on his toes and looked down on Uncle William - benignantly. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William went on mending his net. His blue eyes squinted at the - meshes and his big arms moved hack and forth in even rhythm. - </p> - <p> - The man looked down at him doubtfully. Then he found a nail keg—a - stout one—and sat down. “I want to be on good terms with my - neighbors, Mr. Benslow,” he said genially. He was leaning forward a - little, toward Uncle William, one arm resting on his knee and the hand - spread out toward him. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at it a minute. Then he pushed up his spectacles and - looked out to sea. “The’ ain’t many neighbors round here,” he said, “—jest - me and Benjy—and Andy.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s what I meant,” said the man, “only <i>I’m</i> the neighbor now - instead of—Hallo!—There’s Halloran himself. I want to speak to - him,” He rose cautiously from his keg and motioned to Andy who was - disappearing behind a pile of lumber down on the dock. - </p> - <p> - Andy came out, a little grudgingly, it seemed, and the man moved forward - to meet him. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William went on mending his net. - </p> - <p> - When the man returned his face had a reddish look and his voice was a - little controlled and stiff. “Halloran tells me you’ve put an injunction - on my work up there?” He moved his hand toward the cliff. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William held up his net and squinted at it. “We-l-l,” he said - slowly, “we told ’em they better not do any more building—not till - you come.” He looked at him mildly. - </p> - <p> - There was silence on the beach. The galls sailed overhead and the waves - lapped softly, rippling up and back, with little salt washes. Uncle - William looked about him with contented gaze. “We don’t really need a - hotel on the Island, Mr. Carter—not really,” he said slowly. - </p> - <p> - The man looked at him a moment. Then he sat down on the keg, adjusting his - weight nicely. “I understand your feeling, Mr. Benslow, I understand it - perfectly—and it’s natural. But you don’t foresee, as I do, what a - hotel will do for this Island. I’ve had experience in these matters, and I - can tell you that in three years—” he looked about him proudly, “you - wouldn’t know the place!” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William cast a quick glance at the cliff—“I don’t suppose I - should,” he said hastily. - </p> - <p> - “And as for values—” The man’s hand swept the horizon. “You could - sell at your own price. I’m really doing you a favor, Mr. Benslow—” - he leaned toward him, “if you had foresight.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I reckon it takes foresight,” said Uncle William. He looked at him - mildly. “I might just as well tell ye, Mr. Carter—you can’t build no - hotel—not up here. You can build down ’t the village, if you want - to,” he added. - </p> - <p> - “In that hole—?” The man looked at him cynically. “Do you think - anybody would board in that hole?” - </p> - <p> - “I shouldn’t want to myself,” admitted William, “but folks are different—some - folks are different.” - </p> - <p> - The man rose to his feet. “I shall be sorry to have any ill feeling with - you, Mr. Benslow. But you can’t expect me to sacrifice my plans—not - unless you are willing to buy the place yourself.” He dropped a narrow eye - on him for a minute. - </p> - <p> - “That’s what I was thinking,” said Uncle William cordially. - </p> - <p> - The man smiled a little. “What would you consider it worth?” he asked - pleasantly. - </p> - <p> - “Well—” Uncle William considered, “I do’ ’no’ just what ’tis worth. - We <i>paid</i> Andy two thousand for it.” - </p> - <p> - The man’s mouth looked at him for a minute, then it closed, in a little - smile. “You mean you <i>would</i> pay that,” he suggested. - </p> - <p> - “I mean we <i>did</i> pay it,” said Uncle William stoutly, “—last - week. An’ then I told ’em not to drive another nail, or I’d sue ’em!” He - was sitting erect now and there was a little glint in the blue eyes. “Set - down, Mr. Carter.” He motioned to the nail keg. “I might jest as well tell - ye—plain out—so ’s ’t you can understand. Andy didn’t own that - place. He ain’t owned it for years. He don’t own stock nor stone on the - Island—Don’t own his own boat out there—” Uncle William nodded - to the dark boat, rocking beside the <i>Jennie</i>. Andy, on the deck, was - busy hauling up the sail and making ready to cast off. Uncle William’s eye - rested on him, with a little humorous gleam. “You see, Andy, he got - scared, fo-five years ago, ’bout his property. He’s a kind o’ near man, - Andy is, and he got the idee he ’d make everything over to Harr’et—to - have it safe. So that’s what he done. He give her a paper saying he ’d - made it all over to her—everything. Nobody knew it, I guess—except - me. And I wouldn’t ’a’ known it if it hadn’t been for one day, when we was - out sailin’—We got to talking about one thing and another—and - fust thing he knew, he ’d told me. He made me promise not to tell, and I - ain’t told—not a soul—not till now.” Uncle William beamed on - him. “I reckon ’twon’t do any harm now.” - </p> - <p> - The man’s gaze was fixed on him. “I shall see what the law has to say - about it,” he said quietly. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I would if I was you,” said Uncle William cordially, “<i>I</i> did, - when I bought my piece. I see a lawyer—a <i>good</i> one—and - he said my deed wa ’n’t wuth the paper ’twas writ on if Harr’et didn’t - give a quit-claim deed—So she give it.” - </p> - <p> - The man’s gaze was looking out to sea. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at him benevolently. “It ain’t a <i>just</i> law—<i>anybody</i> - can see it ain’t just! How was you going to know ’t Harr’et owns Andy? I - wouldn’t ’a’ known it if we hadn’t been sailing that way. And <i>you</i> - couldn’t ’a’ known it—You <i>didn’t</i> know,” said Uncle William - with conviction. - </p> - <p> - The narrow eyes turned on him for a minute. “There’s such a thing as law,” - he repeated. - </p> - <p> - “Law’s ticklish,” said Uncle William. “Far as I make out, the man that’s - got the most money, beats—after a spell.” - </p> - <p> - There was silence again. “I suppose you know I paid Halloran five hundred - down,” said the man. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Andy told me about the five hundred down—and five hundred the - first of the month.” Uncle William’s hand sought his pocket. “Andy give - that five hundred to me. I reckon he kind o’ hated to hand it to ye.” - Uncle William’s eye sought the dark boat that had lifted sail and was - creeping out of the harbor. “I told him I’d just as lives give it to you - as not—I’d be real glad.” He held out the roll of bills. - </p> - <p> - The man took them, in thick fingers, and counted them. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William watched him, with deep, detached eye—“I’ll tell you - how it is, Mr. Carter—You wouldn’t ever ’a’ been happy here on the - Island—not really happy. You see, here on the Island, we gen’ally - fish, or cut bait, or go ashore. You ’d like it better to go ashore.” - </p> - <p> - The man moved away a few steps. “To tell you the truth, I am glad to be - out of it,” he said, “I was making your land altogether too valuable—and - nothing in it for me.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s the way I felt,” said Uncle William cordially. “I don’t like - things ’t I own to get too val’able. It makes a lot of bother owning - ’em.... You ’ll just about get the boat—if you was thinkin’ of going - today,” he suggested. - </p> - <p> - The man looked at him—then he smiled and held out his hand. - “Good-by, Mr. Benslow. I think I know a gentleman—when I meet him.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William rubbed his hand down his trouser leg and took the one that - was held out. “Good-by, Mr. Carter. I don’t suppose I’ll see you again. - You won’t be comin’ back to the Island, I suppose. But we ’ll buy your - lumber—we can work it in somehow, I reckon.” - </p> - <p> - The man moved away, and Uncle William returned to his net. Now and then - his eyes sought the little dark boat that sailed back and forth against - the misty horizon—and a smile crept up to the eyes and lingered in - them—a little smile of humor and gentleness and kindly pity and - strength. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>’d LET him go, - Benjy, if I was you.” Two weeks had gone by and the mackerel continued to - run. George Manning had stayed by the house, driving nails with big, - fierce strokes and looking out over the harbor with his set face.... The - house had come on rapidly—the shingling was done and most of the - inside woodwork was up. A new set of men had been put on, to replace the - mackerel men, and Manning drove them hard. It had not been easy to get - men, or to keep them—with the mackerel schooling red out there in - the harbor. But something in Manning’s eye held them to their work. - </p> - <p> - “I’d let him go, Benjy,” said Uncle - </p> - <p> - William. The two men stood in front of the new house, looking toward it. - “He’s got her closed in tight—” went on Uncle William, “Windows all - in. The’ can’t anything happen to her now.... He’s stood by ye putty - well,” he suggested craftily—“better ’n I’d ’a’ done—with all - that goin’ on out there!” He waved his hand at the water. - </p> - <p> - Bodet’s eye followed the motion. “I want him for the inside work,” he - said. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at him benevolently. “I know you <i>want</i> him, - Benjy. But here on the Island we al’ays kind o’ give and take—Ain’t - you been taking quite a spell?” he added gently. - </p> - <p> - Bodet turned a little. “A contract’s a contract,” he said uneasily. - </p> - <p> - “Well, mebbe,” said Uncle William, “I reckon that’s why we ain’t ever had - many contracks here on the Island—We’ve al’ays liked to live along - kind o’ humanlike.” - </p> - <p> - Bodet smiled a little. “I’ll let him off,” he said, “—if he ’ll get - things along so we can paint—I can look after the painting for him - myself—” his chest expanded a little. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s eye was mild. “I reckoned you ’d come around to doin’ it, - Benjy. We wouldn’t ever ’a’ felt comfortable, sitting in your house—when - ’twas all done,” Uncle William looked at it approvingly—“We wouldn’t - ’a’ wanted to set there and look at it and remember how George Manning - didn’t get a chance to put down a net all this season.... I reckon I’d - al’ays kind o’ remember his face—when I was settin’ there—the - way he looks in there, and the mackerel ripplin’ round out there in the - water—and him hammerin’.” - </p> - <p> - Bodet grunted a little. “All right—I’ll let him off—tomorrow.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William beamed on him. “You ’ll feel a good deal better, Benjy—now - ’t you’ve done it. I see it was kind o’ making you bother?” - </p> - <p> - “I could have stood it—quite a while yet—if you could have,” - said Bodet dryly. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William chuckled and looked toward the house—“There’s George - in there now—You go tell him—why don’t you, Benjy.” - </p> - <p> - He moved away and Bodet stepped toward the house. He disappeared inside - and Uncle William seated himself on a rock and studied the boats that - dotted the harbor. Only two were at anchor—the new Jennie, riding in - proud, fresh paint, near by, and George Manning’s great boat—dark - green, with crimson lines and gleams of gold along the prow. She was a - handsome boat, large and finely built, and Maiming had refused more than - one offer for her for the mackerel season.... - </p> - <p> - He would take her out himself—or she should ride the season at - anchor. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William turned toward the house—The young man was coming from - the door. “Hello, George—I hear you’re going out!” - </p> - <p> - The sombre face smiled a little. “‘Bout time!” His eye dropped to the big - boat and lingered on it. “She’s all ready—and I’ve got my pick of - men.” He gathered a stem of grass from the cliff and took it in his teeth. - “I don’t believe I was going to hold out much longer,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes—<i>you ’d</i> ’a’ held out. I wa ’n’t a mite afraid of your - not holdin’ out,” said Uncle William. “All I was afraid of was that <i>Benjy - ’d</i> hold out—I kind o’ thought he ’d be ’shamed byme-by—when - he come to see how ’twas on the Island.... It’s different, living on an - island, George. We can’t expect everybody to see what we do—right - off, I guess. There’s something about living on an island, perhaps. You - just get little handy samples o’ things and see how ’tis—right off. - Bein’ born on an island’s a dretful good thing—saves you hurryin’ - and repentin’.” Uncle William gazed at the horizon. “Benjy don’t like - repentin’ any more ’n you do. He ’ll be real glad ’bout your going—byme-by.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m going down to fix things up a little—I’ll be back along towards - night.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh—George—?” Uncle William’s fingers fumbled in his pocket. - </p> - <p> - The young man held his step. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve got it here—somewheres—” murmured Uncle William. “Yes—here - ’tis.... You just give this to Celia, will you?” He held out a torn - envelope. “You tell her to put it behind the clock for me.” Uncle - William’s face was impassive. - </p> - <p> - The young man eyed it a minute.... - </p> - <p> - “All right.” He held out his hand. “I wasn’t expecting to go by your - place. But I can—if you want me to.” He tucked the note in his - pocket and moved off. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked after him with a kindly smile—“Just hates to do - it—worst way,” he murmured.... “Don’t none of us know what’s good - for us, I reckon—no more ’n he does.” - </p> - <p> - Celia, moving about the room like a bird, paused a moment and listened. - Then she went cautiously to the window and pushed back the red curtain and - looked out... her eyes followed the line of road, with eager, glancing - look—little smiles in them and bubbles of laughter. She dropped the - curtain and went back to her work, shaking out pillows and dusting the - quaint room, with intent, peering looks that darted at the dust and shook - it out and rebuked it as it flew. - </p> - <p> - A shadow blocked the door, but she did not look up. She held a pillow in - her hand, looking severely at a rip in the side and Uncle William’s - feathers fluffing out.... The young man scraped his feet a little on the - stone step. - </p> - <p> - She looked up then—the severe look still in her face. “Mr. Benslow - is not here,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “I know he is not here.” He stepped over the sill. “He asked me to give - you this.” He fetched the foolish paper out of his pocket grimly and - looked at it and handed it to her. - </p> - <p> - She took it gravely. “What is it for?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “He said you were to put it behind the clock—I don’t know what it’s - for—” he said a little gruffly. - </p> - <p> - Her laugh scanned the bit of paper. “I can put it behind the clock—if - he wants it there—” She walked over and tucked it away. “But I think - it’s a funny idea,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “So do I,” said George. - </p> - <p> - “Will you sit down?” She motioned to the disorderly room. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve got to go,” he replied. He looked about him—sitting down. - </p> - <p> - A little smile played through Celia’s face and ran away. “I didn’t thank - you for carrying the potatoes for me—that night—” she said - politely. “You went off so quick I didn’t get a chance.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m going mackereling tomorrow,” responded George. - </p> - <p> - “You are!” Her eyes opened. “Did Mr. Bodet <i>say</i> you could?” - </p> - <p> - His face darkened. “I’d have gone before—so far as he is concerned.” - He straightened himself a little. - </p> - <p> - “Oh—I—thought—he didn’t want you to go.” - </p> - <p> - “He didn’t—but that isn’t what kept me.” - </p> - <p> - “What was it—kept you, then?” She had seated herself and her hands, - holding the dust-cloth, were crossed demurely in her lap. - </p> - <p> - George looked at them. “I stayed because I thought I ought to,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “<i>I’d</i> have gone.” She gave a little flit to the dust-cloth and - folded it down. - </p> - <p> - He turned his eyes away. “Likely enough you would—” he said, “you’re - a woman—” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know what you mean by that!” She had got to her feet and was - looking at him. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know just what I mean myself,” said George. “But I guess I didn’t - mean any harm—women are just different, you know.... I’ve got to go - now—” he said, crossing his legs. - </p> - <p> - “You’ve got a nice boat,” said Celia. The teasing look had left her face. - </p> - <p> - “Do you think so?” He flushed a little and lifted his eyes to the window. - </p> - <p> - “Uncle William says she’s the best boat on the harbor,” said Celia. - </p> - <p> - “Well—I guess she is.... He’s got a good one, too—mine’s - bigger,” said George. - </p> - <p> - “It’s a beautiful boat, I think,” said the girl. She had gone to the - window and was looking down. The wind came in and blew past her curls a - little and ruffled around through the room. - </p> - <p> - “I’d like to take you out in her some day,” said George. - </p> - <p> - “Would you!” She turned to him, with a quick little flutter of curls and - the color dabbing her cheeks. “I’d <i>love</i> to go!” - </p> - <p> - “All right.” He got up. He went toward the door slowly—as if fingers - held him. - </p> - <p> - The girl did not stir.... - </p> - <p> - He turned at the door and looked at her—“Good-bye,” he said— - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye.” She moved a step, “Oh—I—” - </p> - <p> - He paused a minute—waiting. - </p> - <p> - “I thank you for bringing the paper,” said Celia. - </p> - <p> - “That’s all right.” He moved away down the path. - </p> - <p> - She stood where he had left her—the dust-cloth in her hand, the - little clear color in her cheeks. Slowly the look changed. By and by she - went to the window and looked out. Down below, a young man had drawn a - dory to the water’s edge and was shoving off. She watched him seat himself - and pull out with long, easy strokes. - </p> - <p> - Presently he looked up. He crossed the clumsy oars in one hand and lifted - his hat. - </p> - <p> - The dust-cloth fluttered a moment and was gone. - </p> - <p> - With a smile the young man replaced his hat and resumed the oars. The dory - moved through the water with long, even motion—and overhead a gull - followed the dory, hanging on moveless, outspread wings. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE day was alive—pink - dawn, moving waves, little tingling breaths of salt, and fresh, crisp - winds. Celia, up in the little house, was singing bits of song, peering - into closets and out, brushing and scrubbing and smiling, and running to - and fro.... Uncle William, out on the big rock near the house, turned his - head and listened to the flurry going on inside.... There was a pause and - a quick exclamation—and silence. Through the open door he could see - the curly head bent over an old plate. She was standing on a chair and had - reached the plate down from the top shelf. Uncle William’s face fell a - little. She jumped down from the chair and came toward the door, holding - it at arm’s length. “Look at that!” she said. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked. “That’s my boot-grease,” he said a little wistfully. - “I put it up there—kind o’ out of your way, Celia.” - </p> - <p> - She set it down hard on the rock. “I’ll make you some fresh—when I - get to it.” She disappeared in the door, and Uncle William looked at the - plate. He half got up and reached out to it—“The’s suthin’ about - real old grease—” he murmured softly. He took up the plate and - looked at it—and looked around him—at the sky and moor and - sea.... “I do’ ’no’ <i>where</i> I’d put it ’t she wouldn’t find it,” he - said regretfully. He set the plate down on the rock and returned to his - harbor. A light wind touched the water and the little boats skimmed and - shook out sail. Down on the beach George Manning was bending over his - dory, stowing away nets. The other men on the beach went to and fro, and - scraps of talk and laughter floated up. Uncle William leaned over, - scanning the scene with happy eye—“When you goin’ out, Georgie?” he - called down. - </p> - <p> - The young man lifted his head and made a hollow of his hands—“Waiting - for Steve,” he called up. - </p> - <p> - “He goin’ out with ye?” - </p> - <p> - The young man nodded and pointed to a figure loping down over the rocks. - </p> - <p> - The figure joined him and stood by him. The two men were talking and - scanning the sky. Uncle William gazed over their heads—out to the - clear horizon.... “Best kind o’ weather,” he murmured. He looked a little - wistfully at the <i>Jennie</i> rocking below. - </p> - <p> - Celia came to the door, “You going out today, Mr. Benslow?” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William shook his head and looked at the sky. - </p> - <p> - “It’s a good day,” said Celia. - </p> - <p> - “Best kind o’ day—” assented Uncle William. He looked again at the - heavens. Little scallops—rays of clouds, shot athwart it. - </p> - <p> - “I’d go if I was you,” said Celia. - </p> - <p> - “I thought mebbe I’d stay and help Benjy—byme-by. George Manning’s - going out.” The corner of his eye sought her face. - </p> - <p> - It dimpled a little. “He told me he was going out—when he brought - the paper yesterday,” she said. “It’s behind the clock—when you want - it,” she added. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t want it—not now,” said Uncle William absently. - </p> - <p> - Celia returned to her work and Uncle William was left in the clear, open - peace of the morning. Along the horizon the boats crawled back and forth, - and down on the beach the clutter and hurry of men and oars came up, - fresh. He bent forward and watched it all—his big, round face full - of sympathy and happy comment.... - </p> - <p> - “Much as ever George ’ll make out to set this morning,” he said. His eye - scanned the distant boats that crept along the horizon with cautious - tread. “He ought to ’a’ known Steve Burton ’d be late. Steve ’d miss his - own funeral—if they ’d let him.” Uncle William chuckled..... The - great, dark boat had lifted sail and was moving a little, feeling her way - to meet the mysterious power that waited somewhere out in the open—Uncle - William watched her swing to the wind and lift her wings.... - </p> - <p> - He stepped to the door—“Oh, Celia—Want to see suthin’ pretty?” - </p> - <p> - The girl went to the window and looked out. She gazed at the sky, and - swept the horizon with a look. “Anything different from usual?” she said. - Her eye kept away from the harbor. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William came and stood behind her, looking down. “Just look down - there a minute, Celia.” He took the curly head in his hands and bent it - gently. - </p> - <p> - She gazed at the boat—pacing slowly with the deepening wind—and - her eyes glinted a little. - </p> - <p> - “Looks nice, don’t it?” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - She nodded, her fingers on her apron traveling with absent, futile touch. - “I always like to see boats start off,” she said happily.... “Look, how - she takes the wind—!” She leaned forward, her eyes glowing, her face - lighted with the same quick, inner light that touched the breeze and the - sails. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William, behind her, smiled benignantly. - </p> - <p> - “He’s a good sailor,” he said contentedly, “I taught George how to sail a - boat myself.” - </p> - <p> - He leaned forward beside her. The boat had come opposite them—gathering - herself for flight. The full sails tightened to the breeze, and the bow - rose and dipped in even rhythm.... The girl’s eyes followed it happily. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s hands made a trumpet about his words—“Oh-o—George! - Oh-lo-ho!—Ship ahoy!” he bellowed. - </p> - <p> - The young man looked up. He took off his hat and swung it about his head. - The boat was moving faster and the wind blew the hair from his forehead. - </p> - <p> - “Give him a kind of send-off, Celia!” said Uncle William. He untied the - little starched bow of her apron. “Wave it to him,” he said. “It ’ll bring - him good luck, mebbe—!” - </p> - <p> - She pulled at the apron and flung it wide—shaking it up and down - with quick little movements that danced. - </p> - <p> - “That’s the way,” said Uncle William, “That’s right.” - </p> - <p> - The young man looked up with eager eyes. He leaped on the rail and ran - along with quick, light step, waving back. Then he sprang to the stem seat - and took the tiller. He was off to the mackerel fleet—with the sun - shining overhead—and up on the cliff the girl stood with eager eyes - and little freshening curls that blew in the wind. - </p> - <p> - She tied on the apron soberly and went back to her work. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William, standing up over the sink, was looking for something. - </p> - <p> - “What is it you want?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William dimbed down and peered under the sink. “I used to have a - paintbrush,” he said. He looked about the room vaguely and helplessly— - </p> - <p> - “Covered with red paint?” asked Celia. - </p> - <p> - “—Mebbe ’twas red,” said Uncle William thoughtfully, “I do’ ’no’ <i>when</i> - I used that paint-brash—But it’s a good brush and Benjy said they - was short of brushes. I thought mebbe—” - </p> - <p> - “It’s out behind the woodpile,” she said crisply, “I put it there - yesterday—fifty old rags with it—I was going to burn them up,” - she added, “but I didn’t get to it.” Her eyes danced. - </p> - <p> - “They’re perfectly good paint rags, Celia.” Uncle William looked at her - reproachfully. “I was tellin’ Benjy this morning I’d got a nice lot of - rags for him. I do’ ’no’ <i>what</i> I’d ’a’ done if you ’d burned <i>them</i> - up.” - </p> - <p> - “There are plenty more around,” said the girl. She looked meaningly at a - bit of wristband that showed below his sleeve. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William tucked it hastily out of sight. “I gen’ally trim ’em off,” - he said. “But I couldn’t find my scissors this morning—I thought the - knife had cut it putty good?” He peered down at it distrustfully. - </p> - <p> - “Knife!” The word was scornful—but the little look that followed him - from the door held only gentleness and affection. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William, outside the door, looked at the sky and the harbor, with - the mackerel fleet sailing on it—and at the <i>Jennie</i> rocking - below. Then his eye traveled, half guiltily, over the moor toward Benjy’s, - and back.... “Best kind o’ weather,” he murmured. “No kind o’ day to—” - He took a step toward Benjy’s house—another, and another, and moved - briskly off up the road. Suddenly he turned, as if a hand had been laid on - his shoulder, and strode toward the rocky path that led to the beach. A - big smile held his face. “—No kind o’ day to paint,” he said softly - as he dragged the dory to the water’s edge and shoved off. Five minutes - later the <i>Jennie</i> had hoisted anchor and was off to the fleet. - Benjy, painting with Gunnion up in the new house, looked out now and then - from the window as if hoping to see a big figure rolling toward him along - the white road. - </p> - <p> - Celia, in the little house on the cliff, brought a roll of cloth from the - shelf over the sink and undid it slowly. Inside was a large pair of - scissors. She smiled a little as she took them up and spread out the - cloth. It was a great garment, the size and shape of Uncle William. - Sitting by the window, where the breeze blew in from the water, her - thimble flew in the light. Now and then she glanced far out where the - boats sailed. Then her eyes returned to her needle and she sewed with - swift stitches... a little smile came and went on her face as the breeze - came and went on the water outside. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>N the clear - morning light the mackerel fleet stood out against the horizon. Only one - boat had not gone out—a dark one, green with crimson lines and gold - along her prow. The girl on the beach looked at it curiously as she - selected her fish from the dory, transferring them to the pan held high in - the hollow of her arm. The silver scales gleamed in the sun—lavender, - green and blue, and violet-black, as she lifted them, in running lines of - light. The salt tang in the air and the little wind that rippled the water - touched her face. She lifted it with a quick breath and looked out to the - mackerel fleet upon the sea.... Uncle William had promised to take her—some - day. She returned again to her fish, selecting them with quick, - scrutinizing glance.... A shadow fell across the pan and she looked up. - The young man had paused by the dory—and was regarding her with - sombre eyes. - </p> - <p> - The little curls shook themselves and she stood up. “Aren’t you going - out?” - </p> - <p> - The sombre eyes transferred themselves to the sky. “By and by—maybe—no - hurry.” He smiled down at her, and the blood in her cheeks quickened. - </p> - <p> - “Everybody else has gone—” She waved an impatient hand at the - distant fleet that sailed the horizon. - </p> - <p> - “I haven’t gone,” he said. He continued to study the sky with serene gaze. - </p> - <p> - “Why don’t you?” she asked severely. - </p> - <p> - He looked at her again, the little, dark smile touching his lip, “I’m - waiting for luck,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “You won’t find it here—” Her eye swept the beach—with its - tumbling fishhouses and the litter of dories and trawls. - </p> - <p> - “Maybe I shall,” he said. He looked down at the dory. “There are more fish - right there than I’ve caught in three days,” he said quietly. - </p> - <p> - Her wide eyes regarded him—with a little laugh in them somewhere. - “They call you ’King of the Fleet,’ don’t they?” she said demurely. - </p> - <p> - “That’s what they call me,” he replied. He moved a little away from her - toward a dory at the water’s edge. “Want to go out?” he said carelessly. - </p> - <p> - Her eyes danced, and she looked down at the fish in her pan and up to the - sky, and ran lightly to the fish-house and pushed the pan far inside and - shut the door. “I ought to be getting dinner,” she said, coming back, with - a quick smile. - </p> - <p> - “Never mind dinner.” He held out his hand and she scrambled into the dory, - her eyes shining and the little curls bobbing about her face. She was like - a child—made happy. - </p> - <p> - He pulled out with long strokes, looking contentedly at her as she sat - huddled in the end of the boat. “I am taking you along for luck, you - know.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll never bring anybody luck,” she replied. Her eyes followed the great - gulls overhead. “I’m like the birds, I guess,” she lifted her hand, “I - just keep around where luck is.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s good enough for me,” he replied. He helped her into the boat and - lifted anchor, running up the sails and casting off. The breeze freshened - and caught the sail and filled it and the great boat crept from the harbor - and rounded the point.... Out in the open, it was blowing stiff and the - boat ran fast before it, little dashes of spray striking the bow and - flying high. The girl’s laugh sounded in the splashing water, and the salt - spray was on her arms and cheeks and hair. - </p> - <p> - The young man looked at her and smiled and turned the bow—ever so - little—to take the wave and send it splashing about her, and her - laugh came to him through the swash of the spray. It was a game—old - as the world... pursuit and laughter and flight and soft, shining color - and the big sun overhead, pulling the whole game steadily through space—holding - the eggshell boats on the waves and these two, riding out to sea. - </p> - <p> - He turned the bow again and the splashing of the water ceased. She was - looking at him with beseeching, shining eyes, and he bent a little - forward, a tremulous smile of power on his lip. He was drinking life—and - sky and sea were blotted out. The boat ran heedless on her way... and he - talked foolish nothings that sounded important and strange in his - unstopped ears.... The girl nodded shyly and spoke now and then—but - only to the sky and sea.... - </p> - <p> - The sky had darkened and the distant fleet bore toward home—casting - curious glances toward the dark boat that moved with random hand.... - George Manning could be trusted in any blow, but he was up to something - queer off there—with a sky like that. They drew in sail and ran - close, making for harbor.... - </p> - <p> - The young man looked up and blinked a little and sprang to his feet. He - had pushed the tiller as he sprang, and one leg held it firm while he - reached to the guy rope and loosed it. “Get down,” he said harshly. - </p> - <p> - Her quick eyes questioned him and the little head lifted itself...With a - half-muttered word he had seized her, crowding her to the bottom of the - boat and ducking his head as the great boom swung past. - </p> - <p> - She gazed at him in swift anger, pulling herself free. But her wrath spoke - only to the winds—He had run forward, dragging down the foresail, - and was back to the tiller—his dark face set sternly, his eyes on - the horizon. - </p> - <p> - When she tried to get up, he did not look at her—“Stay where you - are,” he said roughly. - </p> - <p> - She hesitated a minute and sank back, biting her lip close. The line of - gunwale that rose with heavy sweep to the sky and fell through space, cut - her off. There was only the creaking of the boat, straining against the - sea, and the figure of the man, above her, who had thrust her down—the - great figure of the man and the blackened sky. By and by the rain fell and - drenched her and the wind blew fiercely past the boat, driving them on. - She could see the great hand on the tiller tighten itself to the wind, and - force its will upon it, and the figure of the man grow tense. One leg - thrust itself quickly and struck against her and pushed her hard—but - she would not cry out—She hated him and his boat and the great sea - pounding about them.... She wanted to get her pan of fish and go home to - Uncle William and cook the dinner. The tears were on her face, mingling - with the rain and the salt water that drenched it. - </p> - <p> - By and by the pounding waves grew less and the boat ceased to strain and - creak and the great hand on the tiller relaxed its hold a little. - </p> - <p> - “You ’d better get up now,” he said—his voice sounded rough and - indifferent and she lifted indignant eyes, but he did not see her. His - gaze was still on the horizon, holding it with intent look. - </p> - <p> - She got up and gathered the little loose curls in her hands, wringing the - water from them and shaking them apart. - </p> - <p> - Then she got to her knees and crawled to the seat, shivering a little. Off - to the left, the woods of the Point shut off the main force of the wind, - but the breeze was still fresh. He took off his coat and tossed it to her. - “Put that on,” he said briefly. - </p> - <p> - It fell on the seat beside her, but she did not touch it or look at it. - Her little face had a firm look. - </p> - <p> - His gaze left the horizon, for a flash, and came back. “You put on that - coat,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t want it—” The words trailed away in a sob. - </p> - <p> - He did not look at her again. “You ’ll do as I tell you,” he said quietly—“or - I shall make you.” - </p> - <p> - She reached out for the coat and put it on, drawing it miserably about her - chin—“I think you are horrid.” She was wiping away the tears that - ran quickly down. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t care what you think—You might have been killed,” he added - after a pause. - </p> - <p> - “I’d rather—have been—killed.” The breath she drew was a quick - sob. - </p> - <p> - He looked at her a minute. Then he looked away to the horizon. “There - can’t be two captains on a boat,” he said dryly—“I didn’t mean to - hurt you—I had to speak quick.” - </p> - <p> - She did not reply. She did not look at him again—not even when he - helped her into the dory and rowed her ashore. - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he repeated, as he held up his hand to help - her from the boat. She leaped to the beach. “I wish I’d never gone with - you.” She stamped her little foot on the sand. “I’ll never go again—never, - never—not as long as I live!” She turned her back on him and walked - toward the fish-house. - </p> - <p> - He looked after her, a curious glint in his eye. Then he looked at his - boat, riding at anchor, and the look changed subtly, “You needn’t worry,” - he said softly—but not too softly to reach the pink ears—“You - needn’t worry, Miss Celia—there will never be but one captain on a - boat.” - </p> - <p> - She opened the door into the fish-house and took her pan and went up the - rocky path without a look behind her. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> NDY stepped up - the road, a sombre look in his face. Now and then he cast an eye at the - mouth of the harbor where the mackerel fleet sailed. Then he strode on - with stately step. He had been fishing for a week and had caught nothing—twice - his net had been hung up on the rocks and yesterday the dog-fish had run - it through—and Harr’et’s temper was worn thin.... He looked his - grievance at the horizon. - </p> - <p> - Harriet had been firm. If he could not fish, he should paint, and Bodet - was offering three-fifty a day. She had rented the boat, over his head—<i>his</i> - boat—and she had talked about Jonah, and had sent him out of the - house—with his paint brushes! - </p> - <p> - Andy fizzed a little and stepped higher and looked ahead up the road. - </p> - <p> - A figure, seated in the sunshine, was making strange pantomimic gestures - with a paint brush. Andy stopped a minute to look at it—then he came - steadily on. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked up and nodded. “Hello, Andy—goin’ to help?” - </p> - <p> - “Guess so,” said Andy. He glared at the harbor. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William spatted his brush along the rock and dipped it again in the - tin can beside him. - </p> - <p> - “What you doin’.” asked Andy. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William squinted at the brush and rubbed it thoughtfully back and - forth—a deep red smudge followed it. “Kind o’ getting my brush - ready,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Andy sniffed. “Bodet inside?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, yes—he’s there—” Uncle William hesitated—“Yes—he’s - there—” - </p> - <p> - He drew a long flourish of red on the rock and looked at it approvingly. - </p> - <p> - “It ’ll take you an hour to get that brush clean,” said Andy. - </p> - <p> - “Do ye think so?” Uncle William beamed. “That’s just about what I - cal’-lated—an hour.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m going to work,” said Andy virtuously. He moved toward the house. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William cast an eye at him. “I do’ ’no’s I’d go in, Andy, if I was - you—not just yet.” - </p> - <p> - “Why not?” He wheeled about. - </p> - <p> - “Well—” Uncle William hesitated a second—and looked at the - little clouds and the big moor, “I don’t think Benjy’s ready,” he said, - “not just ready.” - </p> - <p> - “What’s he doing?” asked Andy. - </p> - <p> - “Kind o’ stewin’,” said Uncle William, “He’s got suthin’ on his mind—about - paint.” - </p> - <p> - “Come—ain’t it!” Andy’s eye was curious. - </p> - <p> - “Yes—it’s come—loads of it has come—” Uncle William drew - the brush thoughtfully back and forth, making little red dabs along the - rock. “The’s a good many kinds—and colors—and sizes—piled - up in there—but the’ ain’t any of ’em what Benjy wants.” He lifted - his brush with a flourish. - </p> - <p> - “What does he want, then!” - </p> - <p> - “I do’ ’no ’s I can tell ye—exactly, Andy.” Uncle William gazed at - the harbor. “Benjy knows—somewheres in his mind—but he can’t - seem to find it on dry land.” Uncle William chuckled.... “Gunnion’s mixin’ - ’em, you know.” - </p> - <p> - Andy nodded. - </p> - <p> - “An’ he’s got a green mixed up in there—that’s along kind o’ east by - no’-east, I should think.... An’ what Benjy wants, far’s I make out, is a - green that’s kind o’ no’-east by east.” Uncle William chuckled again.... - “Jim puts in the color, you know, and daubs some of it on a stick they’ve - got there—and Benjy looks at it and says, no—’twon’t do—needs - more yellow or suthin’—and Jim chucks in a little yellow and then - they both look at it and Benjy kind o’ hops around—swears some. I - thought I’d come out and do my brushes.” - </p> - <p> - “Gunnion’s a good painter,” said Andy. - </p> - <p> - “Well—yes—he can lay it on putty good.... But they ain’t got - to layin’ on yet. I do’ ’no’s they ever will get to it,” said Uncle - William thoughtfully—“It ’d be easier if Benjy knew a little how the - colors are liable to act together, I guess—when you put ’em in.” - Uncle William’s eye was reflective. “I reckon that’s what makes him lose - his head so,” he said, “—he ain’t prepared in his mind for how Jim - ’ll make them colors act together. You see, Jim—he puts in the - yellow and Benjy peeks in the pail, expecting to see suthin’ kind o’ - yellow and,’.tead o’ that, the thing’s turned blue—sort o’.” - </p> - <p> - “Like enough,” said Andy carelessly—“He ’d ought to know yellow and - blue will run towards green,” he said contemptuously, “—anybody ’d - know that.” - </p> - <p> - “Benjy don’t know it,” said Uncle William, with an accent of decision. - “You can tell by the way he acts—lookin’ in the pail. You see he’s - after a green that’s a little mite more on the yellow—so he says, - proud as Punch, ’Put in more yellow,’ he says, and then—when he sees - it—he says things.” - </p> - <p> - A voice sounded from the window and they turned around. Bodet stood in it, - beaming at them and at the landscape. “Come on in and see the color we’ve - got,” he said triumphantly. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William gathered up his brush and turpentine and they moved slowly - toward the house. - </p> - <p> - Benjy waved them toward the stairs. “Go up and look,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Jim Gunnion, on the floor, was stirring a pot of paint with a stick. There - was a set look in his face as he stirred. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at him and winked. The look in Jim’s face moved a - little. - </p> - <p> - “There’s a color for you!” said Bodet. He moved his hand proudly toward - the door panel. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William put on his glasses and inspected it—“’.is a good - color, Benjy,” he said cordially, “I’m glad ye held out—both of ye.” - </p> - <p> - Bodet, with his head thrown back, stared at the streak of old-fashioned - green on the panel. The man on the floor stirred the pot of paint. Uncle - William looked at them both with benignant eye.... “I reckon I’m all ready - to begin.” He drew the paint brush down the leg of his trousers and looked - at it inquiringly—“Putty clean,” he said with satisfaction. “Now, - where ’ll you have me?” - </p> - <p> - The man on the floor handed him a pot of paint in silence and pointed to - the mop-board. Uncle William sighed a little and let himself down. Andy, - seizing another pail, attacked the unfinished panel. The painter went on - mixing color. Benjy, over by the window, studied the harbor. - </p> - <p> - Presently he looked back into the room. “Fog’s setting in,” he said. Andy - came across and looked out. - </p> - <p> - “Uh-huh,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William, from the floor, looked up. “They’ve had quite a spell of - weather,” he said cheerfully, “and this ’ll give ’em a chance to rest up a - little and overhaul their tackle....’.is too bad about George—I kind - o’ reckoned he ’d ketch suthin’ today.” He got up and came to the window. - A great blanket of white was moving toward them, over the water. All the - little distant boats were hidden behind it.... “They ’ll hev to come in - keerful,” said Uncle William. “I reckon I won’t paint any more today.” He - laid his brush carefully along the top of the pail. - </p> - <p> - Andy looked at him and looked at his panel and hesitated. “You better stay - here, Andy,” said Uncle William encouragingly. “You ’ll get quite a lot - done if you stay.” - </p> - <p> - He went cheerfully out, and Benjamin, watching from the window, saw him - enter the blanket of fog and disappear. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXIV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">U</span>NDER its white - garment, the Island lay muffled and still. Tiny specks moved about on it—under - some great canopy of space—they emerged and drifted and ran—calling - into the fog. Out at sea the bell sounded its note, swinging to and fro - with a deep, sharp clang. Men on the shore listened to it and peered into - the fog.... The boats had come creeping in, one by one—some of them - loaded to the rail—some grumbling at fog, and riding high. Only two - were out now, and the day had come on to dusk—the dusk of the fog - and of the night sliding silently in together. - </p> - <p> - The whole Island had gathered on the beach, looking into the fog—peering - for glimpses of water, and the darker shapes of the boats out there.... - George Manning had not come in—and about noon Uncle William had - lifted anchor and drifted out, looking for absent boats—“Sometimes I - kind o’ sense where they be without seein’ ’em,” he had said.... The boats - were all in now, swinging at their moorings under the soft dusk—all - but Manning’s and Uncle William. The last boats in had had glimpses of the - <i>Jennie</i> and had heard Uncle William’s voice booming through the fog. - “He was off the Point, last I heard,” said a voice on the beach.... “He - was drifting along, sort o’ looking out—told us how things was ahead—then - the fog drove in and shut him off—then we heard him quite a spell - after we couldn’t see him”... the voice ran along the beach and ceased. - </p> - <p> - Someone had lighted a bonfire, and the children went fitfully back and - forth in the glow.... The night was coming down.... “I don’t mind a blow,” - said a complaining voice, “I don’t care how hard a gale it blows, but I - can’t, stan’ fog.... I wish they was in.” - </p> - <p> - Up in the little house on the cliff, the ship’s lantern was lighted—and - a dull eye glowed at the night.... In the room, the girl moved with light - feet, stopping now and then and bending her head for steps on the path or - for some sound of the sea. She crossed once to the window and put her - hands about her face and looked out into the grayness. She drew back with - a little quick breath, and went again to her work. - </p> - <p> - On the beach, men strained their ears to listen... oar-locks creaked - faintly, marking the fog. The beach listened and drew to its edge.... - “That’s William!” - </p> - <p> - “Uncle William’s come!”—The children rushed down the beach and stood - alert at the fog. - </p> - <p> - The oar-locks creaked leisurely in and the big form grew to them—over - the dory’s bow. Hands reached out and drew it up on the sand as the wave - receded. Uncle William stepped out, without hurry—“No, I didn’t find - him—He must ’a’ gone out considabul far—put in-shore, like - enough.” He drew a hand down his length of face and flicked the moisture - from it. “Putty thick,” he said cheerfully. - </p> - <p> - The children drifted off, with running shouts. Someone threw fresh staves - on the fire and the flames leaped up, playing against the great curtain of - fog and showing strange shapes. The faces took on mystery, and moved in - the leaping light—as if they were all a big play. The calling tones - deepened to the fog and the even-clanging bell rang its note—and - stopped—and rang again. - </p> - <p> - Men went home to eat, and came back to the beach, and Uncle William - climbed to the house on the cliff. “It’s been a putty good day,” he said - placidly. “They’ve had quite a run o’ luck—forty-fifty barrel, all - told, I should think.” - </p> - <p> - “Are they all in?” said the girl. She had placed the plate of fried fish - before him, and stood beside him, waiting—a wistful look in her - face. - </p> - <p> - “Where’s Benjy?” asked Uncle William, helping himself to fish with - leisurely hand. - </p> - <p> - “Down to the beach—hours ago,” said the girl. - </p> - <p> - “Um-m—I didn’t see him.... Yes, they’re all in now—except - George. He ’ll be along pretty quick, I guess.” He chewed with easy - relish, reaching down a hand to Juno as she rubbed alongside. “She had her - supper?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “No, sir—I was waiting for you—I guess I kind of forgot her, - too,” said the girl with a little laugh. “Here, Juno—!” Juno walked - across with stately mien to the plate of scraps. - </p> - <p> - The girl lifted a sober face. “You going back down to the beach, Uncle - William!” - </p> - <p> - “Well—mebbe I’ll go down a little while, byme-by. I didn’t leave the - <i>Jennie</i> all snug—You want some wood!” He peered into the box. - </p> - <p> - “I brought some in—while I was waiting.” - </p> - <p> - “You hadn’t ought to ’a’ done that, Celia—” - </p> - <p> - “I hadn’t anything else to do,” said the girl, “and I was tired—waiting.” - She bent over the sink, scrubbing vigorously at the kettle. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William glanced at her. “If I was you, I wouldn’t do any more - tonight, Celia. I gen’ally chucked ’em under the sink—nights like - this—” His gaze sought the window. “You ought to be getting back to - Andy’s pretty quick—’fore it gets any darker. The fog’s coming in - thick.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m going—by and by. You through your supper?” She glanced at his - plate. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I’m through.” He looked at the plate a little guiltily. “It was - cooked nice,” he said. - </p> - <p> - She smiled at him. “You didn’t eat much.” She carried the plate to the - sink. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William took up his hat. “I’ll be going down, I guess.” He went to - the door—her glance followed him— - </p> - <p> - “Uncle William—?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Celia.” - </p> - <p> - She was looking down at her hands. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William came back. He reached out a hand and rested it on her - shoulder. “There ain’t any danger ’t the Lord can’t take care of, Celia,” - he said smiling. “I s’pose if <i>I</i> was takin’ care of him, I’d be - worried—a night like this.... But, you see, the Lord’s got him.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” said Celia. - </p> - <p> - “You go right home—and you go to sleep,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “I’d rather stay here,” said the girl quickly, “this is home.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, so ’tis,” said Uncle William, “—and the’ ain’t any reason why - you can’t stay as well as not. You just lie down on the lounge here.... - Juno’s good comp’ny and there’s the fire, and lights.... You won’t get - lonesome.” He patted the shoulder and was gone. - </p> - <p> - The girl finished the dishes and sat down in the big chair by the stove. - Juno came and jumped on her lap, and the girl gathered her up, hiding her - face in the thick fur.... Out in the harbor she could hear the stroke of - the fog-bell, and the voices from the beach, muffled and vague. Something - was in the air—her fingers tingled with it—the electricity in - Juno’s thick fur—or was it something out there with the voices? She - put down the cat and sat erect, gazing before her. Then she got up and - took a little shawl from its nail and flitted from the room... down the - steep path, stumbling and catching her breath—hurrying on, her face - toward the sea and the little shawl gathered closer about her. - </p> - <p> - A great form loomed from the mist and came close to her—“That you, - Celia?” It was Uncle William’s voice, with a deep note in it, and she - turned to him, catching at something in her throat, “I couldn’t stay up to - the house—” It was a breathless cry— - </p> - <p> - “There—there—You come right here.” He gathered her hand, - laying it on his arm and patting it a little. “Now we ’ll run along,” he - said, “and see what’s doing.” - </p> - <p> - Down the beach they could hear the voices talking, calling—dying - away. The fire had flared up, and the faces danced in and out.... “I kind - o’ sense suthin’ coming,” said Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - There was a long, gruff sound—a big whistle, like low thunder—and - silence... then the whistle—sharper, and seeking—and the - muffled chugging of big screws.... The faces, toward the sea, waited—intent. - “She’s off her course—“... The vague sounds came in nearer—and - sheered away.... Through the veiling fog they could see red lights—and - green—of the steamer. Then the whistle broke shrilly and moved - off... the churring waves followed her.... On the beach they had thrown - fresh brush on the fire, great armfuls that flared high—and the - sound of the steamer dwindled through the mist. - </p> - <p> - “Looks as if the moon might break through,” said Uncle William. The eyes - looked up to a luminous spot in the fog—and came back to the - beach.... “He ’d ’a’ been in hours ago,” said Andy, “—if he was - coming—” - </p> - <p> - “Put in-shore—like enough,” responded Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - The men gathered about the fire, squatting on the sand or sitting on boxes - and kegs.... The fire was dying down now, but no one rose to throw on - fuel.... The girl wandered to the water’s edge and stood listening. The - little waves touched her feet, but she did not draw back... Glances, by - the fire, sought her and looked away. A dense stillness had settled on - them—only the little moving waves broke it, as they ran up and ran - back.... A muffled creak out of the dark, like the whisper of a sail - turning, half-asleep—Then the rattle of cords, and a voice that - laughed—“A-hoy!” The mist was still again, and then the call, coming - through its blankness, “A-hoy! Ship ahoy!” - </p> - <p> - The mist parted and the boat came gliding through—her lights little - points in the night—Slowly the mists lifted—rolling up, like - great curtains into the darker night. A soft light that was not of moon or - stars grew about them—The fire had died out and only the gentle - light shone everywhere and through it the dark boat, seeming motionless, - crept softly in. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE group on the - beach went swiftly toward the dock, Uncle William’s lantern leading the - way and swinging toward the end. He leaned over toward the boat in the - mysterious light, “What ’d you ketch, Georgie?” - </p> - <p> - The young man looked up and a rope swirled through the air—“Twenty-six-seven - barrel,” he said easily. - </p> - <p> - A shout went up from the dock, broken sounds, bits of scoffing disbelief - that piled down into the boat and shouted back and made a marvel of the - catch. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William, with his big smile, moved back along the wharf—looking - for someone.... He went toward the beach, swinging his lantern—far - in the distance, towards Andy’s, something flitted, and paused, and went - on, and drifted past the horizon, out of sight. Uncle William’s eye - followed it, smiling. “Cur’us the way women is—running after ye, one - minute—till you’re most scared—and then.”... He waved his - lantern at the misty, moonlit hill, where the little figure flitted toward - the sky. He shook his head.... Out at the end of the wharf there was - calling and creaking, and the thumping of barrels and blocks of ice. Uncle - William watched them a minute—then he turned toward the cliff. “What - he ’ll need more ’n anything’s a good hot meal,” he said. He climbed to - the little house and opened the door cautiously. Bodet, across the room, - glanced at him. “He’s come,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he’s come.” Uncle William bustled about, getting out the kettle. “I - thought mebbe you ’d be in bed.” He placed the kettle on the stove and - went over to the cupboard. - </p> - <p> - “In bed?” Bodet laughed—“I came up to get my coat. I don’t go to bed - tonight—not while things are stirring down there.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William turned his head to listen—Sounds of thumping came up - faintly. “‘Tis interesting,” he said. “The’s times when it seems’s if more - things was happening on this island than anywheres in the world—big - things, you know.... Where do you s’pose Celia put that fish?” He peered - under a bowl and brought out a piece of pie and looked at it fondly and - set it on the table and went back. - </p> - <p> - “You might look down cellar,” suggested Bodet. - </p> - <p> - With a sigh, Uncle William took up his lantern, and lifted a trap door in - the floor. “I most hoped it wa ’n’t down cellar,” he said. He put his foot - on the steep ladder and disappeared in inches.... He emerged triumphant. - “The’s quite a lot o’ things down there—I didn’t know where she kep’ - ’em.” - </p> - <p> - “Just as lief you didn’t,” said Bodet. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William chuckled. “She looks after me putty well. I don’t believe - I’ve over e’t once since she come!” He surveyed the table. - </p> - <p> - “You going to make coffee?” asked Bodet. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at him. “You ’d like some, wouldn’t you, Benjy?” - </p> - <p> - “I shouldn’t object,” said Bodet, “—if you’re making it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I might’s well make some—’twon’t take long—if you ’ll - go fetch a pail of water.” - </p> - <p> - Benjy laughed and took up the pail. Uncle William watched him benignantly. - “—And you might kind o’ holler to George—tell him to come up - when he’s done.” - </p> - <p> - “All right.” Bodet departed with his pail and Uncle William pottered - about, singing a little, a kind of rolling chant, and grinding coffee—measuring - it with careful eye.... “She couldn’t ’a’ run faster if the ’d been snakes - after her.” He chuckled into the coffee pot and looked up—Benjy had - come in. “He says he ’ll be right up,” he said, finding a place for his - pail on the sink. - </p> - <p> - “I’d better hurry,” said Uncle William. He made coffee and cut bread and - served the fish, with accustomed hand. “The’s suthin’ about cooking your - own things,” he said, “I do’ ’no’ what ’t is—Hallo, George!” he - looked up. “Come right in. We’re all ready for ye.” - </p> - <p> - They drew up to the table and Uncle William beamed on them. “Seems like - old times, don’t it!—Help yourself, George—You made a putty - big catch—!” - </p> - <p> - “Pretty fair,” said the young man with a twinkle. - </p> - <p> - “What ’ll they figger up?” asked Uncle William. - </p> - <p> - “Twenty-nine barrel—on ice—” responded Manning. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s eye sought Bodet. “That ’ll give you two thousand dollar—putty - near—?” - </p> - <p> - “I’m counting on twenty-three hundred—if I take them over myself.” - </p> - <p> - “When are you coming back?” asked Bodet quickly. - </p> - <p> - The young man turned to him—“Back here?” - </p> - <p> - “Back to my house?” - </p> - <p> - “You can’t have him yet awhile,” said William. - </p> - <p> - Bodet shrugged his shoulders. “Gunnion’s a fool!” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Well—I do’ ’no’ ’s I’d say that.” Uncle William considered—“He’s - colorblind, mebbe, but he’s got sense.” - </p> - <p> - Benjy looked at him—“Do you mean to tell me that man can’t tell - color?” he said sternly. - </p> - <p> - “He can tell some colors,” said Uncle William, “I forget just which they - be—but if you happen to strike ’em, he can tell ’em—good as - anybody.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t happen to strike them,” said Bodet dryly—“I want you,” he - said. He was looking at George. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William leaned back in his chair. “You comin’ back, Georgie?” he - asked. - </p> - <p> - “Give me three more days and I’m with you,” said the young man. He rose - and took up his hat. “I’m off now—Thank you for the supper, Uncle - William.” He was gone and they heard his leaping feet on the rocky path. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at Bodet. “I reckon you better let him go, Benjy?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t see that I have any choice in the matter,” said Bodet. He had - pushed back from the table and was looking about him, a little fretfully. - “We sha ’n’t get done by Christmas—the rate we’re going now,” he - added. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at him. “What makes you in such a hurry, Benjy—?” - </p> - <p> - “Hurry!—Christmas—!” said Benjy. There was a little sniff in - the air. - </p> - <p> - “What you going to do with your house when you get it done!” asked Uncle - William casually. - </p> - <p> - Benjy stared at him. “I’m going to <i>live</i> in it,” he said with - emphasis. “—Providence permitting.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ve been kind o’ thinking about that,” said Uncle William slowly, “—whilst - you’ve been hurrying—Seems to me maybe ’twon’t be near so much fun - living in your house as ’tis building.... I’ve got a sight of comfort out - of building your house,” he added gently. - </p> - <p> - Bodet looked at him. “You ’d get comfort out of an earthquake, William.” - </p> - <p> - “They’re interesting,” admitted Uncle William, “I’ve been in ’em—three - of ’em—little ones, you know.” He gazed before him. - </p> - <p> - “I’d rather be in three quakes—three big ones—than build on - this Island,” said Bodet firmly. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s gaze broke. He pushed up his spectacles and leaned - forward. “That’s just where ’tis, Benjy. It’s different—on the - Island. When you’ve lived here a spell, you don’t want to finish things up - lickety-cut, and then set down and look at the water.... You kind o’ spin - ’em out and talk about ’em—paint one end, mebbe, and go out fishin’ - or suthin’—not paint the other for fo-five months, like enough—not - ever paint it.” He beamed on him. - </p> - <p> - Bodet moved restlessly. “Did you ever do any painting with Gunnion!” he - demanded. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s smile deepened. “I’ve painted with him—yes... ’tis - kind o’ fiddlin’ work, painting with Jim Gunnion.” He pushed back the - dishes and rested his arms on the table—“This is the way I see it, - Benjy.... I woke up the other night—along in the night—and got - to thinkin’ about it. We ’d have a real good time buildin’ your house if - you wa ’n’t so kind o’ pestered in your mind. You see—the’s you and - me and George and Gunnion—and Andy some days—and we could - visit along whilst we was working—have real good times.... Like - enough the boys ’d sing some—they most al’ays do sing when they’re - building on the Island—Sounds nice, when you’re out on the water to - hear ’em—two or three hammers goin’, and singin’... I don’t believe - they’ve done much singin’ on your house, Benjy?” He looked at him - inquiringly. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t believe they have,” said Bodet. - </p> - <p> - His face was thoughtful. “They might have got along faster if they had - sung,” he added. He looked up with a little smile. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William nodded. “I do’ ’no’s they ’d ’a’ got along any faster—but - you ’d ’a’ liked buildin’ better. The’s suthin’ about it—” Uncle - William gazed about the little red room—“suthin’ about the Island—when - you’re settin’ up nights and the wind’s a-screeching and howling and the - waves poundin’, down on the beach.... You get to thinking about how snug - the boys made her, and you kind o’ remember ’em, up on the roof, and how - the sun kept shining and the sou’-west wind blowing and the boys - singing.... It all seems different, somehow.” Uncle William’s gaze dwelt - on it. - </p> - <p> - Bodet took up his hat. “I think I’ll go down to the beach,” he said - soberly. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s eye followed him. - </p> - <p> - “You don’t think I’m scoldin’ ye, Benjy, do you?” - </p> - <p> - Bodet paused beside him and laid a hand on the great shoulder. “I’d rather - have you scold me, William, than have any other man I know praise me.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s mouth remained open a little and the smile played about - it. “I do’ ’no’ why you say that, Benjy. I ain’t any different from - anybody—’cept’t I’m fond of ye,” he added. - </p> - <p> - “You’re fond of everybody,” declared Bodet laughing. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s face grew guilty. “There’s Harr’et,” he said slowly. “Some - days I can’t even <i>abide</i> Harr’et!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXVI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>ODET had taken - largely to sitting about on nail-kegs, listening to the men talk and - joining in now and then.... The little fretted look had left his eyes, and - his voice when he spoke had a quiet note. - </p> - <p> - “You’re doin’ fine, Benjy!” Uncle William confided to him one morning. It - was the week before Christmas. A fire had been built in the big - living-room and the men had gathered about it, talking and laughing and - thawing out. A fierce wind from the east was blowing and fine sleet drove - against the windows. The room had a homelike sense—shut in from the - storm. - </p> - <p> - “It’s a great thing to have building goin’ on, a day like this—when - the’s a big storm from the east,” said Uncle William cheerfully. “If - ’tw’an’t for the building, you might not have a soul in to see you all - day.” He glanced complacently at the group about the fire. - </p> - <p> - “Costs me twelve-fifty a day,” said Bodet dryly. - </p> - <p> - “Wuth it, ain’t it?” said Uncle William, “I do’ ’no’ what money’s for if - ye can’t be happy with it....” He glanced affectionately at the quiet face - opposite him. “You’re getting happy every day, Benjy.... I do’ ’no’s I - ever see anybody get along as fast as you do—gettin’ happy.” - </p> - <p> - The tall man laughed out. “It’s a choice between that and everlasting - misery—on your old Island,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I guess ’tis.” Uncle William’s voice was contented. - </p> - <p> - The group about the fire broke up and moved off. Uncle William’s eye - followed them—“They’re going to work now. You ’ll get quite a piece - done today—” He came back to the fire. “I was thinking—how ’d - it do to have dinner up here!” He was looking about the room. - </p> - <p> - Bodet’s glance followed his—“Who ’ll cook it?” he said. - </p> - <p> - “We could send for Celia,” said Uncle William. “Gunnion’s team’s out in - the shed—he didn’t unhitch. We could send down, easy enough, and - fetch her up—dinner and all—and she could cook it out in your - kitchen—” Uncle William beamed. “You ’d like that, wouldn’t ye?” - </p> - <p> - “It’s not a bad idea—I’ll tell Gunnion to drive down and get her.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William laid a hand on his arm. “I reckon you ’d better let George - fetch her up,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “I can’t spare him,” said Bodet decisively. “Gunnion can drive back and - forth all day if he wants to—” Uncle William got in his way, “I - guess you better let George go, Benjy—he won’t be no time driving - down there and back.” - </p> - <p> - With a little smile, Bodet yielded the point and Uncle William rolled off - to find George Manning and send him out into the storm. - </p> - <p> - “You tell her to wrap up good,” he called into the sleet... “and you see - she’s tucked in, George, and tell her to bring plenty of salt and - pep-p-er.” The last word was whirled apart by wind, and Uncle William - retired into the house, a deep smile on his face. - </p> - <p> - Within an hour Celia was there, little beading moisture on the bobbing - curls, and the pink in her cheeks like a rose—the kind that grows - wild and red among the rocks. Uncle William looked at her approvingly. - “Did you good to get out a spell, didn’t it?” he said kindly. - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t know you were worrying about my health—” She shook the - little curls. “I thought you were hungry.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I wa ’n’t—not altogether,” Uncle William’s face was placid, “—but - I wouldn’t ’a’ wanted you to get cold—I guess George tucked you in - pretty good—” - </p> - <p> - “I tucked myself in,” she said. “Have you got a fire made for me?” - </p> - <p> - “Everything’s all ready, Celia.” Uncle William led her out to the tiny - kitchen, tiled in white and fitted with all the contrivances for skill and - swiftness. She stood looking about her—the little color in her face. - “Well, this <i>is</i> a kitchen!” she said. She drew a deep breath. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William chuckled. “I knew you ’d like it. You see you can stand - right here in the middle and throw things. ’Twouldn’t suit me so well—” - he said reflectively. “I like to roll around more—but this is about - right for you, Celia.” He looked at her. - </p> - <p> - “Just right,” she said emphatically—“But there isn’t room for two—is - there?” She looked at him and he retired, chuckling, while she examined - the range, taking off lids and peeking into the oven.... George Manning - appeared in the doorway. “Uncle William told me to ask you if there’s - anything you want?” he said, looking about the shining little room. - </p> - <p> - Celia whisked her apron from the basket and put it on. “You can tell him - there isn’t a thing I need—except to be left alone,” she added - severely, “and I just told him that.” - </p> - <p> - The young man withdrew—a heavy color rising in his face. - </p> - <p> - “She didn’t want anything, did she?” said Uncle William casually. - </p> - <p> - “No.” Manning took up his plane and attacked a piece of board screwed to - the bench. Uncle William watched the long, even lunge of the plane and the - set of the square shoulders. He moved discreetly away. - </p> - <p> - In her kitchen, Celia spread the contents of the basket on the white - shelf, and settled to her work—like a bird to its nest.... Out in - the rooms beyond—amid the swirl of planes and the smell of paint and - shavings and clean, fresh wood, they heard a voice singing softly to - itself... and against the windows the sleet dashed itself and broke, and - the great storm from the east gathered. By and by Uncle William looked - into the kitchen. “You couldn’t just go out in the other room, Celia, and - fetch me my coat, could ye?” He was standing in his shirt sleeves, looking - at her kindly. - </p> - <p> - She glanced up from her work and paused, “No, Mr. Benslow, I couldn’t—and - I do wish you ’d stop acting so.... You’re just—ridiculous!” She - lifted a pie and whisked it into the oven and Uncle William retired. - </p> - <p> - He went for his coat himself and put it on, shrugging his great shoulders - comfortably down into it—“If they want to act like that, they ’ll - have to get along best way they can,” he muttered to himself. - </p> - <p> - His face resumed its calm and he strolled from room to room, giving advice - and enjoying life. “I do like a big, comfortable storm like this,” he - said, standing at the window and looking out across the black-stretched - harbor. “Everything snug down there,” he waved his hand to the bleakness, - “—and everything going all right up here to your house—going - along putty good, that is,” he added conscientiously. - </p> - <p> - Bodet came and stood beside him, looking out. “It suits me,” he said. “I - don’t want anything better than this—except to have the children - back,” he added after a minute. - </p> - <p> - “They ’ll be’long byme-by, Benjy.” Uncle William’s gaze was on the - blackened water. “They ’ll be’long—and the little one with ’em.... - You ought to have somebody to keep house for you, Benjy—till they - come—” He turned and looked at him—“Want me to lend you Celia - awhile?” he said craftily, “—just whilst you’re finishing up? She - likes it out there—” he nodded to the kitchen. “She likes it - fust-rate out there and I don’t mind letting you have her—you can - have her just as well as not.” He studied the keen face opposite him. - </p> - <p> - The man shook his head. “I don’t need her, William—I’ve sent for - some one—a Jap that I knew years ago. He took care of me over there - when I was with the Embassy. He said he ’d come to me any time I sent for - him—so I sent.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William beamed. “Now, ain’t that good! And it’s good his bein’ a <i>man!</i>” - he added thoughtfully. “I <i>like</i> women. I do’ ’no’ anybody’t I like - better ’n I do women—but sometimes they’re kind o’ trying.” His ear - listened to the clink of dishes from the kitchen. - </p> - <p> - Bodet laughed—“Well, he’s a man—Jimmu Yoshitomo’s a man—though - you don’t think about it—either way.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William nodded. “I know what you mean, Benjy—they’ve got way - past that—Japs have—past being men and women—they’re - just old, and kind o’ human—and not just human either,” he added - slowly, “I do’ ’no’ <i>what</i> it is... but I feel different when they’re - round—kind o’ sleepy, somehow—the way I feel on the Island, - still days—when the sun shines?” He looked at him inquiringly. - </p> - <p> - “That’s it. I’ve always meant to have a Jap when I had a home, and now I - have the home.” He looked about the big room contentedly. - </p> - <p> - Celia came to the door and looked in. “I’m going to set the table in - here,” she announced, “—by the fire.” - </p> - <p> - She set the table and called the men and returned to her kitchen. Uncle - William followed her with inquiring step—“You come and eat your - dinner out here with the rest of us, Celia, whilst it’s hot,” he - commanded. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve got things to do—I can’t be bothered to eat now.” She shut the - door on him. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William returned to the living-room with subdued face, but when he - saw the group at table and the leaping fire and the plates and piles of - steaming food, his face grew round again and he smiled. “Does seem good, - don’t it?” He sat down, helping himself to potato and salt and butter. - “The’s suthin’ about eatin’—that’s different,” he said. “—You - can’t have a home without you eat in it.... I’ve seen folks try it—eatin’ - one place and livin’ another, and ’twa ’n’t home. They seemed kind o’ - stayin’ round—not livin’ anywheres. If I was a young man, the <i>fust</i> - thing I’d do ’d be to have a home.” His eyes looked over Manning’s head, - into space, and he chewed slowly. - </p> - <p> - Manning ignored it. “Mr. Bodet says <i>he’s</i> going to have a Jap keep - house for him,” he said to the table in general. Andy looked up quickly. - “I wouldn’t have one of them things around.” - </p> - <p> - “I do’ ’no’ why,” said Uncle William, “They’re nice little folks.” - </p> - <p> - “They’re different,” said Andy. - </p> - <p> - “Some places you couldn’t send for one that way,” said Manning. “They ’d - call it ’contract labor’ and send him back pretty quick where he came - from.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s what I’d do—’pretty quick.’.rdquo; said Andy. - </p> - <p> - “Now, what makes you talk like that, Andy,” said Uncle William. “You ain’t - ever see one.” - </p> - <p> - “They ’ll work for nothing—and live on dirt,” said Andy glibly. - </p> - <p> - “I guess you didn’t ever see how they live, did you, Andy?” said Uncle - William. His eyes were on something now and they smiled to it. “I do’ - ’no’s I could just make you see it—if you wa ’n’t ever there—But - they’re about the nicest little houses you ever see—and clean—You - feel kind o’ ’fraid to step in ’em, they’re so clean and fixed-up.... I - do’ ’no’ ’s I ever feel so big and clutterin’ as I do times ’t I’m in - Japan,” he said reflectively. “Seem’s if there ’d have to be a lot done to - me ’fore I was pared down fit to live in Japan.... Nice ways, too—bowin’ - and ridiculous, like monkeys, maybe,—but doin’ things quicker ’n - Jack Ro’binson.” - </p> - <p> - “They ’ll work for nothin’,” muttered Andy. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William turned and regarded him over his spectacles—“If - anybody wants to do <i>my</i> work for nothin’, I do’ ’no’ why I should - hinder ’em,” he said kindly. “They can come on to the Island and do <i>my</i> - gardenin’ all they want to. It don’t hurt my feelin’s any to see ’em - digging.” He waved his hand out to where the storm drove—“Why we - should shove ’em off the edge when they’re just aching to do our work for - us, is what I can’t see. I never see the time yet when the’ wa ’n’t work - enough to go round.” - </p> - <p> - Andy shifted uneasily in his chair. - </p> - <p> - “—The’s too much!” said Uncle William with conviction. - </p> - <p> - “I guess we ’d better be doing a little of it,” laughed Manning. He got up - from the table and went toward the other room... and Uncle William’s eye - came back from Japan and followed him hopefully. - </p> - <p> - But the young man passed the kitchen door without a glance. Uncle William - sighed and got up from the table. “You make yourself ridiculous talking - about foreign folks, Andy—folks ’t you ain’t ever seen,” he said - severely. The sound of the hammers came through the open door and Celia’s - voice, singing gently to itself.... Outside, the rain roared hoarse, - running across the moor and blotting out the sky and the boats tugging at - anchor below. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXVII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>N March Jimmu - Yoshitomo arrived and, soon after him, a cablegram from Alan and Sergia. - “Hurray!” Uncle William leaned out of the window, waving it, “It’s come, - Benjy—Didn’t I tell you it ’d come!” Bodet hurried up and took it - from him, reading it aloud, Uncle William leaning over him— - </p> - <p> - <i>“Wilhelmina Bodet Woodworth and Mother both doing well.”</i> - </p> - <p> - Uncle William leaned out further, reading it over his shoulder. - “Wil-helmina Bodet—Kind o’ queer, ain’t it, Benjy?” - </p> - <p> - “It’s a girl—and she’s named for you,” said Bodet proudly. - </p> - <p> - “Why, so ’t is—Willie-Meeny.” Uncle William regarded the paper - fondly. “—and it’s a girl, you think, do you, Benjy?... I’m glad - it’s a girl. I al’ays like little girls—they have ways with ’em.” He - took the paper and handled it tenderly—turning it over and looking - at it as if something further might crop up. “Jest think how it come to - us, Benjy—scootin’ round the world—’Twa ’n’t twenty-four hours - old and here ’tis—and we knowin’ all about it—and seeing her - lying there, all kind o’ quiet, and the little one—and folks - steppin’ around soft and doin’ things.... I reckon that’s what the Lord - made ’em for—” He held off the telegram and looked at it—“so - ’s ’t we could be happy everywheres—seeing folks all in a minute—Seems - like all one fam’ly. You don’t need to travel—just sit still and - look.” - </p> - <p> - “There’s considerable travel going on still—” said Bodet smiling. He - was looking out across the harbor, to the world of steamboat lines and - railroads and automobiles threading the earth off there. “People don’t sit - still a great deal,” he said. “There’s quite a lot of machinery humming.” - His hand motioned from the top of the world where they stood, off to the - sun-lit space below. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William nodded, looking at it thoughtfully. “I’ve thought about ’em—when - I’ve been sailin’—all them machines. I reckon they’re made for folks - that can’t travel in their minds—don’t know how—it kind o’ - makes feet and legs for ’em so ’s ’t they can get around faster. They feel - sort o’ empty in their minds, and lonesome, like enough, and then they - take a train and go somewheres—or a toboggan slide, or suthin’, and - they feel better—Don’t you reckon that’s the way ’tis, Benjy?” He - looked at him hopefully. - </p> - <p> - “I shouldn’t wonder at all,” said Bodet—“There ought to be some - excuse for clatter.”... The Japanese servant appeared around the corner of - the house, moving a mysterious, respectful hand and Bodet joined him. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at them a minute. Then he tucked the telegram in his - pocket. “Guess I’ll go tell folks about it,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Jimmu Yoshitomo took possession of Bodet and his belongings as thoroughly - as Celia had taken possession of Uncle William—though with possibly - a little less flurry. He made a little garden for him out by the house, - and raised flowers and vegetables and planted flowers alongside the house - and among the rocks—and found a sheltered corner where wisteria - would live through the winter—if carefully protected. - </p> - <p> - By September the wisteria had sent great shoots against the house, and the - flowers among the rocks were a brilliant mass of bloom. The Japanese moved - among them like a dusky blossom in white coat and trousers—his - century-old face turned always toward Bodet and his needs. - </p> - <p> - Andy, coming up the road, regarded him with disfavor—“Monkey man and - monkey clo’es,” he said scornfully. - </p> - <p> - “Benjy takes a sight o’ comfort with him,” responded William. - </p> - <p> - They made their way toward the house, and Jimmu Yoshitomo approached from - the garden, bowing low. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William bowed low in return. Andy remained stiffly erect, detached - from all these things. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t you stop workin’, Jimmie Yosh,” said Uncle William kindly—“We’re - just goin’ to set ’round a spell.” They went on toward the house and Jimmu - Yoshitomo returned to his flowers. - </p> - <p> - Inside, the house was a bit of tropic-land that had floated over seas, and - lighted on the Island. Colors in the old rugs glowed dully, and little - gleams of metal and glass caught the light and played with it. The tiny - kitchen was a white-set gem, and through the long vista of the living-room - doors there were hints of the art gallery and a scattered horde of - pictures. - </p> - <p> - “Like enough he’s in there,” said William. - </p> - <p> - The gallery was the only room in the house that had not been put in order. - Even Sergia’s and Alan’s rooms were ready—the beds made and a little - basket cradle swinging in the apple-wood frame that George Manning had - made for it—in his off hours. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William could never pass the door without looking in. He peeked in - now, on tiptoe, and withdrew. - </p> - <p> - “Looks nice, don’t it?” he confided to Andy. - </p> - <p> - “Kind o’ odd,” admitted Andy. - </p> - <p> - They stood in the door of the gallery and looked in on its emptiness. - Pictures stood on the floor and on boxes and chairs. Some of the boxes - were still unopened—and only a small part of the pictures taken out - had been hung up. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked around him with pleased eyes. “He’s got some new ones - out, Andy.” - </p> - <p> - “Uh-huh.” Andy bent over and peered at one—a little behind the - others. He straightened himself quickly and shut his eyes. “They ain’t fit - to look at,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William bent over and drew the picture out and regarded it with - interest. He set it against a box and stood off and looked at it, and - looked at it again. “She’s dreadful pretty, ain’t she, Andy?” - </p> - <p> - Andy opened his eye a crack and withdrew it. “She ain’t decent,” he said - firmly. - </p> - <p> - “You can set with your back to it, Andy,” said Uncle William kindly. “You - don’t need to go stun-blind—not to see it.” - </p> - <p> - “They won’t let him have it on the Island,” said Andy. He sat down and - glared at the picture of an innocent cow—of the Dutch school. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I do’ ’no’, Andy.” Uncle William studied the picture with lenient - eyes. “She’s kind o’ young and pretty—The’ ain’t much about this - climate in it—” He glanced casually up at the glass roof above them. - “Come along winter, now—when the winds get to shrieking and blowing - up there—it ’ll seem kind o’ queer to see her standin’ on a hank—like - that—all ready to jump in so, won’t it?” - </p> - <p> - Andy turned his head a little and craned his neck. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve <i>been</i> in countries,” went on Uncle William, “where that ’d - seem putty good—Italy, now—best kind of place—warm and - summery always—year ’round. Seems ’s if in this climate we ’d ought - to paint furs and woolen goods more. I don’t suppose Benjy knew <i>where</i> - he was going to hang his pictures when he bought ’em—just gathered - ’em up most anywheres—without thinkin’ how they ’d look hung up.” - </p> - <p> - “He’s coming,” said Andy. He wheeled about on his box. - </p> - <p> - The man stood in the doorway, looking at them with pleased eyes. “I - thought I should find you here.” The glasses dangled from their long chain - and he swung them a little, smiling.... “What do you think is down in the - harbor?” he said quietly— - </p> - <p> - Uncle William got to his feet—“Hev they come, Benjy?” - </p> - <p> - “Looks like it,” said the man. “If I know my own yacht—she’s just - dropped anchor off the Island.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William cast a quick glance at the glass roof overhead. - </p> - <p> - “You can’t see anything there,” said Bodet smiling. “Come on out.” - </p> - <p> - They went quickly from the house—out to the edge of the cliff. - Beneath the cliff, close to the <i>Jennie</i>, a big white boat swung at - anchor, and on the deck a man and woman stood looking up to the Island. - </p> - <p> - “She’s got it with her, Benjy!” said Uncle William. He leaned over the - cliff. Little white garments in the woman’s arms fluttered softly. - </p> - <p> - The woman looked up and saw them and raised the child high in her arms, - lifting it to them in the shining harbor light. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXVIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HEY were sitting - about the fire-place in the big living-room, and a fire burned briskly for - the cool September morning. In front of the fire, on a great rug, - Wilhelmina Bodet Woodworth, fresh from her bath, gurgled and reached out - cooing hands to the fire. Her language could not be understood—not - even by the dusky Jimmu Yoshitomo, who came and stood in the doorway and - looked in with unfathomable eyes. But the words were very pointed and - sweet and quick and had little laughs and chuckles behind them—all - about things she used to know.... By and by—when she had learned - proper ones, she would forget the things she used to know—or - remember them only in her dreams, or some day when she met a stranger in - the street—and half stopped and went on—listening to the - little bells that were ringing somewhere—far off.... She lunged - toward the fire and fell afoul of her toes and laughed and seized them and - gazed at them intently. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William, a hand on either knee—gazed in rapt content. “She’s - about the littlest and the nicest—” he said, “I didn’t reckon she ’d - be like that.” - </p> - <p> - He looked at Bodet for sympathy. Benjy smiled and swung the long glasses - playfully toward the rug.... The person on the rug regarded them a minute—then - she adjusted her muscles and made a little hitching motion toward the - glasses—they were round and they glittered and went back and forth—and - ought to be stopped.... She reached up a hand and laughed and toppled over—and - looked up and saw Andy’s grin somewhere.... For a long minute she gazed - back at it—then she went on hands and knees across the rug—flying - from fate. - </p> - <p> - Sergia reached down and gathered her up, smoothing the white dress. “I put - her into short clothes a week ago,” she said proudly.... - </p> - <p> - “She couldn’t stan’ up a little now, Sergia, could she!” suggested Uncle - William. - </p> - <p> - “Never!” Sergia looked at him and patted the round legs. “She won’t walk - for ten weeks probably,” she said kindly. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s face had fallen a little. “She ’ll be quite a spell - gettin’ down to my house,” he said wistfully. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll bring her tomorrow.” The baby gurgled and reached out fat hands and - Uncle William bent forward. - </p> - <p> - “Kind o’ takes to me!” he said. He held out tentative hands, waggling the - fingers, and the child looked at them gravely, and leaned forward a - little, and broke into glee as Uncle William seized her and swung her - toward the ceiling. - </p> - <p> - “She’s not afraid of you,” said Sergia proudly. - </p> - <p> - “Afraid of me!... I reckon she couldn’t be afraid of Uncle William—!” - There was something a little misty behind the big spectacles... the blue - eyes looked out at the child from forgotten seas. She grasped the tufts of - beard and tugged at them, rocking hard, and making remarks to them. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William smiled in triumph and seized the hand. “I reckon I might as - well take her down to my house,” he said. “She’s got to learn the way - sometime.” - </p> - <p> - Sergia’s face was a little alarmed—“You couldn’t take care of her.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know why,” said Uncle William, “I reckon I can take all the care - she needs—<i>She</i> don’t need any entertainin’.” He gazed at her - fondly and chucked her a little. - </p> - <p> - “She has to be fed,” said Sergia. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll tend to feedin’ her myself,” said Uncle William, “Nobody ever - starved—to my house. You got a little bunnet for her somewheres?” He - put his big hand on the shining head. - </p> - <p> - Sergia looked at them reflectively. “She has to have special milk, you - know—?” - </p> - <p> - “I get mine to Andy’s,” said Uncle William. “It’s just as special as any, - ain’t it—Andy’s milk?” - </p> - <p> - Sergia smiled a little. “It isn’t that—It has to be prepared—sterilized, - you know.” - </p> - <p> - Uncle William looked at her sympathetically—“Now, that’s too bad—and - she looks so healthy, too!” He held her off, and looked at her, and danced - her a little as an experiment—and broke her all up into little - laughs.... He chuckled softly. “I reckon I’ll <i>hev</i> to take her,” he - said. - </p> - <p> - “We-l-l—” Sergia went slowly toward the kitchen and returned with a - bottle in each hand. “I’m going to let you take her,” she said - magnanimously. She laid the bottles on the table and brought the little - bonnet and put it on, patting it and talking little, foolish words to it—“There!” - She stood off and looked at them, doubtfully. “You must feed her as soon - as you get there, and then again in three hours.” She held out the - bottles. - </p> - <p> - “Yes’m.” Uncle William stored a bottle in either pocket—where they - would balance—and started toward the door. - </p> - <p> - “You must bring her back before dinner, you know.” She was following them - protectingly, “—and I think I’ll come down by and by,” she added. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William turned and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you worry a - mite, Sergia—There’s me and Celia to take care of her and we’re - goin’ to hev the best time ’t ever was—The’ can’t anything happen to - her—not whilst I’m round.” - </p> - <p> - He strode proudly out of the door and over the rocks, the little figure - riding on his arm. The wind blowing softly across the Island touched the - small figure, and Uncle William snuggled it down in his arm, covering it - with a great hand. The head nestled to him and drowsed a little and fell - asleep. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William came in the door with hushed step.... “Sh-h—?” he - said. He held up a warning finger. - </p> - <p> - Celia stopped singing and came over and peeked at it. “Isn’t she a dear!” - She held out inviting arms. - </p> - <p> - But Uncle William, proud in possession, marched across to the red lounge - and sat down. - </p> - <p> - “Aren’t you going to put her down?” whispered Celia. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William shook his head. “Not yet.” He sat very quiet and the fire - crackled in the stove—with the kettle humming a little—and - leaving off and beginning again.... Juno came across and leaped up. She - rubbed against him and waited a minute—then she purred towards his - knee. Uncle William watched her benignantly, holding very still. - </p> - <p> - She purred softly, kneading her claws and talking.... Presently she - paused, with fixed gaze—her tail switched a question and was still. - She leaped down and went across and sat down, her back to the room, and - communed with space. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William’s chuckle was very gentle.... “Juno’s makin’ up her mind,” - he said. - </p> - <p> - Celia turned and looked at the grey back and laughed—“She’s - jealous!” she said in surprise. - </p> - <p> - Uncle William nodded. “Women-folks.” - </p> - <p> - She made no response and the room was still again. The baby stirred and - stretched an arm and saw Uncle William’s face bending over her—and - laughed. - </p> - <p> - Celia came across and held out her arms—“Give her to me!” she said. - </p> - <p> - She gathered in the child, with little inarticulate words, and Uncle - William watched her gravely. “You ain’t treated him right, Celia,” he said - gently. - </p> - <p> - She looked at him over the baby’s frock—and her eyes had little - stars in them. - </p> - <p> - “You ’d ought to go tell him, Celia, ’t you didn’t mean anything,” said - Uncle William, “—actin’ that way. He’s a good deal cut up—the - way you’ve been. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know where he is,” said Celia. She was smoothing the white frock - and smiling to Wilhelmina and whistling little tunes. - </p> - <p> - “He’s down to the beach,” said Uncle William. “He come along down when I - did—You ain’t treated him right,” he said slowly.... “I like - fam’lies, and I like folks to have houses and fam’lies of their own—not - be livin’ round, Celia.” He looked at her kindly.... “She ’ll be kind of a - fam’ly to me—” He nodded to the little figure in her arms, “You - needn’t worry a mite about me, Celia.... You just wait till I get her - suthin’ to eat and then you can go.... George said he was going out - sailing,” he added. - </p> - <p> - He drew the bottle from his pocket and looked at it critically. - </p> - <p> - “You ought to heat it,” said the girl quickly. - </p> - <p> - “‘D you think so?” Uncle William held it out, “—Feels kind o’ warm, - don’t it—bein’ in my pocket sot Guess I’ll keep the other one there - till it’s time.” - </p> - <p> - He seated himself and reached up for the baby.... Celia hesitated—looking - out at the shining water and the clear sun and the big boat down below—“I - don’t like to leave you alone,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “I ain’t alone,” said Uncle William, “—and like enough Sergia ’ll be - here byme-by. She said suthin’ about it—You run along now, Celia. - You remember he kind o’ hinted he wanted to take you out today. You tell - him you ’ll go—tell him right off—fust thing—’fore - anything has time to happen—” he said severely. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir.” She flitted from the door and he looked after her, a little - dubiously.... “I ’most ought to go with her,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Then his eye fell on the gurgling face and he laughed. - </p> - <p> - He sat looking about the room with contented gaze.... “Seems ’s if I had - most everything,” he said.... “Juno—” - </p> - <p> - He called the name softly, but there was no response.... “Juno!” The grey - tail switched once on the floor and was still. “You come here to me, - Juno!”... Presently she got up and came over to him and jumped up beside - him. Uncle William put out a hand and stroked her. She settled down with - her gloomy green eyes.... The baby dozed tranquilly over her bottle and - finished it and sat up.... Juno’s back tightened—ready to spring. - “You lie still, Juno,” said Uncle William.... “Nice kitty!” He smiled to - the child and stroked the soft fur.... She reached out a willing hand and - drew it back—there was a sound as if there were a small, muffled - tornado in the room. Uncle William stroked the great back steadily. “You - behave, Juno,” he said sternly. The child reached out the wavering hand - again—and drew it back—and cooed softly.... There was a - moment’s breath—then the green-eyed Juno bowed her head, closing her - eyes, and allowed the small hand to travel down her grey back—and - down again—and again—and the red room was filled with little, - happy laughs. - </p> - <h3> - THE END - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Happy Island, by Jennette Lee - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HAPPY ISLAND *** - -***** This file should be named 52700-h.htm or 52700-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/7/0/52700/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by Google Books - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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