“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.”