“I do’ ’no ’s I can tell ye—exactly, Andy.” Uncle William gazed at the harbor. “Benjy knows—somewheres in his mind—but he can’t seem to find it on dry land.” Uncle William chuckled.... “Gunnion’s mixin’ ’em, you know.” Andy nodded. “An’ he’s got a green mixed up in there—that’s along kind o’ east by no’-east, I should think.... An’ what Benjy wants, far’s I make out, is a green that’s kind o’ no’-east by east.” Uncle William chuckled again.... “Jim puts in the color, you know, and daubs some of it on a stick they’ve got there—and Benjy looks at it and says, no—’twon’t do—needs more yellow or suthin’—and Jim chucks in a little yellow and then they both look at it and Benjy kind o’ hops around—swears some. I thought I’d come out and do my brushes.” “Gunnion’s a good painter,” said Andy. “Well—yes—he can lay it on putty good.... But they ain’t got to layin’ on yet. I do’ ’no’s they ever will get to it,” said Uncle William thoughtfully—“It ’d be easier if Benjy knew a little how the colors are liable to act together, I guess—when you put ’em in.” Uncle William’s eye was reflective. “I reckon that’s what makes him lose his head so,” he said, “—he ain’t prepared in his mind for how Jim ’ll make them colors act together. You see, Jim—he puts in the yellow and Benjy peeks in the pail, expecting to see suthin’ kind o’ yellow and,’.tead o’ that, the thing’s turned blue—sort o’.” “Like enough,” said Andy carelessly—“He ’d ought to know yellow and blue will run towards green,” he said contemptuously, “—anybody ’d know that.” “Benjy don’t know it,” said Uncle William, with an accent of decision. “You can tell by the way he acts—lookin’ in the pail. You see he’s after a green that’s a little mite more on the yellow—so he says, proud as Punch, ’Put in more yellow,’ he says, and then—when he sees it—he says things.” A voice sounded from the window and they turned around. Bodet stood in it, beaming at them and at the landscape. “Come on in and see the color we’ve got,” he said triumphantly. Uncle William gathered up his brush and turpentine and they moved slowly toward the house. Benjy waved them toward the stairs. “Go up and look,” he said. Jim Gunnion, on the floor, was stirring a pot of paint with a stick. There was a set look in his face as he stirred. Uncle William looked at him and winked. The look in Jim’s face moved a little. “There’s a color for you!” said Bodet. He moved his hand proudly toward the door panel. Uncle William put on his glasses and inspected it—“’.is a good color, Benjy,” he said cordially, “I’m glad ye held out—both of ye.” Bodet, with his head thrown back, stared at the streak of old-fashioned green on the panel. The man on the floor stirred the pot of paint. Uncle William looked at them both with benignant eye.... “I reckon I’m all ready to begin.” He drew the paint brush down the leg of his trousers and looked at it inquiringly—“Putty clean,” he said with satisfaction. “Now, where ’ll you have me?”