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.