Uncle William surveyed the offer with impartial eye. “You can pay my livin’ if you want to, Benjy—I’ve gen ’lly paid it myself, but I’d just as lives you did, if you want to—or I’d pay yours.” XVI ANDY was subdued after the real-estate man’s visit. “You and Benjy might sell me back some,” he suggested. He was sitting in Uncle William’s door, looking out over the moor. Uncle William was busy inside. He came and stood in the doorway, his spectacles on his forehead, and looked at the landscape. “What ’d you do with it, Andy—if we give it back to you?” he asked. “I’d sell it to that Carter man—quick as scat—’fore he changed his mind.” Uncle William looked down at him. Then he looked at the moor. “It’s val’able property,” said Andy. “I do’ ’no’ as I know what val’able property is.” Uncle William’s eyes rested fondly on the moor, with its rocks and tufted growth and the clear, free line of sky. “Val’able property?” said Andy. He gazed about him a little. “Val’able property’s suthin’ you’ve got that somebody else wants and ’ll pay money for—right off—That’s what I call val’able property.” The clouds were riding up the horizon—the breeze from the moor blew in and the cloud shadows sailed across. Uncle William lifted his face a little. “Seems to me anything’s val’able ’t you kind o’ love and take comfort with,” he said slowly. Andy grunted. “Guess I’ll go ’long up the road,” he said. “Up to Benjy’s?” Uncle William looked at him wistfully. “I told Benjy I was coming up,” he said, “But it’s kind o’ late—” He looked at the sun, “and it’s warm, too.” Andy made no reply. “I reckon I’ll go ’long with you,” said Uncle William—“You wait a minute whilst I get my plans.” They went up the road together in the clear light, the sun shining hot on their backs. The little breeze had died out and the clouds were drifting toward the horizon. Uncle William glanced wistfully at a big rock by the roadside. “We might set down a spell,” he suggested. He moved toward the rock. “I’ve been stirring since daylight,” he said, “It don’t seem quite right to keep goin’ every minute so. Benjy’s a pretty active man—for his years,” he added. He seated himself on the rock and stretched his great legs in the sun—He drew a long breath. “I do take a sight o’ comfort—not doin’ things,” he said. “Set down, Andy.” He patted the rock beside him. Andy glanced at the sun. “We ’ll be late,” he said. “Yes, we ’ll be late, like enough. Smells good up here, don’t it!” Uncle William snuffed the salt air with relish. “I al’ays like to stop along here somewheres. It makes a putty good half-way place.” Andy sat down. “Benjy’s wastin’ time on that house of his,” he said glumly. “Yes, he’s wastin’ time.” Uncle William looked about him placidly. “Benjy don’t mind time—nor wastin’ it. What he wants is a house that he wants. I do’ ’no’s I blame him for that—I like a house that suits me, too.” His eye traveled back to the little house perched comfortably on its rocks.