“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.”