“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.”