“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?”