“Yes—I was gone—quite a spell. I got to looking round,” said Uncle William. “Time gets away putty fast when you’re looking round and kind o’ thinkin’.” He chuckled again, with the big, kind smile that flooded his face. “What do you reckon made them want to go straight to Russia, Benjy?” He was looking at him shrewdly. Bodet shook his head. “I told you I didn’t know—just a whim, perhaps—” “Something nicer ’n a whim.... You ’d kind o’ like to think of it yourself—It makes things big somehow—big and kind o’ goin’ on forever-like—” His face was full of the glow now and the eyes behind the spectacles had a misty look—like the blue of the sea when the fog is traveling in. Bodet got up and came across to him. “What is it, William!” he said gently. “Just more folks on-the Island—” said Uncle William. “Little ones, you know—travelin’ round...; The’s suthin’ about it—I do’ ’no’ what ’t is, Benjy—but it makes you all kind o’ happy inside—thinking there’s goin’ to be more folks always, when you’re gone—living along in the same places and doin’ things.... I can kind o’ see ’em,” said Uncle William slowly, “—everywheres I go—there they be—plain as if I touched ’em. some of ’em—getting up in the morning and havin’ breakfast and goin’ out and looking at the sun and the rocks and the water and being happy—same as me—unhappy, too, some of the time—thinkin’ things ought to be different.... It makes it all seem big, don’t it, Benjy?” He reached out a hand. The tall man took it. “So you think—?” Uncle William nodded. “They ’ll be comin’ back some day—sailing into the harbor—Sergia and Alan—and there ’ll be a little one traveling with ’em. It’s al’ays the little ones,—Benjy—I do’ ’no’ what the Lord made ’em that way for... they’re so kind o’ queer and little... but I don’t ever see one of ’em runnin’ down the beach—arms goin’ that kind o’ way they have, and hair flyin’—I don’t ever see ’em without feelin’ real good somewheres inside. Everything breaks out all new—lights up, you know—’s if the fog had blown off suddenlike and you looked way out where the sun is.” Uncle William’s face held the glory of it all, but his voice had dropped a little.... He got up and went to the door and stepped into the night. Presently he reappeared and crossed over to the wood-box and looked in. “Guess I’ll bring in an armful of wood,” he said. “It might rain before morning.” Benjy’s smile was very gentle as it followed him. “It can’t rain—a night like this, William.” Uncle William returned to the door and Bodet followed him.... The moor was flooded with light—a magic world, hushed and waiting under its veil.... Uncle William’s eyes dwelt on it fondly. “I reckon I’ll bring in the wood,” he said. “Mebbe it won’t rain. But I kind o’ like to bring in wood when I’ve been thinkin’.” The great figure passed into the transparent night. XV C ELIA looked up from her work. “Did you have good luck?”