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.”

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