THEY bent over the table, following Uncle William’s finger. The room was filled with light smoke from Uncle William’s pipe and the cigarette that Bodet held in his fingers and whiffed from time to time. The dusk outside crept in and mingled with the smoke. “It’s along up here somewheres....” said Uncle William, peering at the map—“Here—! Here it is!” He glued his finger to a tiny spot—“They stopped here, they said—off St. Pierre, and then run along up through Placentia Bay and stopped off two-three times, and back to St. Mary’s—kind o’ edgin’ along—They struck a squall here—off Lance Point—and that kep’ ’em back a spell—” “The boat’s all right!” said Bodet quickly. “Oh, she’s all right, I guess. They didn’t say nothin’ about the boat. They was writin’ about the scenery and about their feelings, and so on; but I managed to make out their course—puttin’ this and that together. Your boat’s all right, Benjy. She ’ll stand any weather they ’ll get this time o’ year.” “Yes—she ’ll stand it—with good handling—” “Well, you’ve got a captain knows his business.... They ’ll bring her ’round to your back door some day, safe and sound.... You ain’t worryin’ to have ’em back, Benjy?” The other shook his head. “Not a bit—I’m contented here.” He gave a little puff to the cigarette and wrinkled his eyes, smiling across the map and dreaming a little. Uncle William’s eyes were on his face, kindly and glad. The pipe in his lips gave out a gentle volume of smoke and rumbled a little down below—“You can’t find a much better place ’n this is, can you?” He moved his hand toward the window where the dusk was coming in... and across the harbor where the lights glowed faintly—like stars. Benjy’s eye rested on them. “Best place in the world,” he said. “We all like it,” said Uncle William, “Andy likes it, too—” The green in Andy’s eye retreated a little—“I’d like to see some of them other places,” he said.... “Now, that,” he shoved his finger at a point on the map—“That’s the farthest north I ever went.” Uncle William bent to it.... “Dead Man’s Point.” He chuckled a little. “‘Tis kind o’ rough, Andy, ain’t it!” “I’ve started times enough,” said Andy—“once for Labrador and once in a whaler ’twas going way up—they said. Seem’s if we always got stuck or got a cargo—or suthin’—before we’re fairly under way—and had to turn around and come back.” Uncle William nodded. “You’ve had a hard time, Andy—and I do’ ’no’s I’d risk taking you along myself—not if I wanted to get anywhere.” Andy grinned. “You’ve been,” he said. “You don’t care.”