“Don’t you worry, Andy, I’m goin’ to put ’em under the sink—way back. The’ won’t no fish-warden get ’em in there. It’s much’s I can do to find things myself—when they get under here—” He emerged from the depths with serene face. “I see some things in there now, I’ve been looking for quite a spell. Tomorrow I’m going to have a real good clarin’-up time—You see!” “I wanted you to go up to my place tomorrow,” said Bodet whimsically. “I thought perhaps you could work that contractor around to let me have my house the way I want it.” “Well, I’ll go if you want me to,” said Uncle William placidly, “The dishes can wait a spell—some of ’em can wait,” he added, with a touch of conscience. Benjamin smiled. “You might do them before we go.” “And you could wipe,” said Uncle William cheerfully. Benjamin’s face was perhaps a trifle less glowing than Uncle William’s, but his assent was cheerful. “All right, William, I’ll do my part—You help me with that contractor and I’ll wipe dishes for you—all day, if you say so.” Uncle William regarded him thoughtfully. “You ought to have George Manning to help you about your house, Benjy. He could do it for you—nice.” “Manning?” Bodet looked at him with lifted eyebrows—“You mean that boy—?” “He ain’t a boy exactly, Benjy. He looks kind o’ young—not having any whiskers, and chewing a piece of grass the way he does when he’s thinking. But he’s old enough. He’s built a good many houses on the Island, fust and last—much as eighteen or twenty, I should think, counting barns—and hen-coops and fish-houses.” Bodet smiled. “My house isn’t a hencoop, William.” “I know, Benjy—it’s going to be a nice house—when you get it started,” said William. Bodet sighed and threw out an impatient hand. Uncle William looked at him sympathetically. “Does bother ye a good deal, don’t it?—You might talk with George about it,” he added hopefully, “‘Twon’t hurt any to talk to him—he’s chuck full of ideas. He’s about the best man we’ve got on the Island, I guess,” he added slowly. “The’ ain’t but one thing wrong about George.” “What’s wrong with him!” asked Bodet with a little, skeptical smile. “He ain’t married,” said Uncle William. Bodet laughed out. “Neither are you, William.” “No, I ain’t married and you ain’t married. But that’s different—we’re old men.” “Just tottering around,” laughed Bodet. “It ain’t the tottering, Benjy—It’s the hevin’ had your chance—and lost it.... That’s what’s happened to us.” He was looking at him with affectionate eyes, over the big spectacles. Bodet nodded. “That’s what’s happened to us. And George Manning, I suppose—”