“I’d better hurry,” said Uncle William. He made coffee and cut bread and served the fish, with accustomed hand. “The’s suthin’ about cooking your own things,” he said, “I do’ ’no’ what ’t is—Hallo, George!” he looked up. “Come right in. We’re all ready for ye.” They drew up to the table and Uncle William beamed on them. “Seems like old times, don’t it!—Help yourself, George—You made a putty big catch—!” “Pretty fair,” said the young man with a twinkle. “What ’ll they figger up?” asked Uncle William. “Twenty-nine barrel—on ice—” responded Manning. Uncle William’s eye sought Bodet. “That ’ll give you two thousand dollar—putty near—?” “I’m counting on twenty-three hundred—if I take them over myself.” “When are you coming back?” asked Bodet quickly. The young man turned to him—“Back here?” “Back to my house?” “You can’t have him yet awhile,” said William. Bodet shrugged his shoulders. “Gunnion’s a fool!” he said. “Well—I do’ ’no’ ’s I’d say that.” Uncle William considered—“He’s colorblind, mebbe, but he’s got sense.” Benjy looked at him—“Do you mean to tell me that man can’t tell color?” he said sternly. “He can tell some colors,” said Uncle William, “I forget just which they be—but if you happen to strike ’em, he can tell ’em—good as anybody.” “I didn’t happen to strike them,” said Bodet dryly—“I want you,” he said. He was looking at George. Uncle William leaned back in his chair. “You comin’ back, Georgie?” he asked. “Give me three more days and I’m with you,” said the young man. He rose and took up his hat. “I’m off now—Thank you for the supper, Uncle William.” He was gone and they heard his leaping feet on the rocky path. Uncle William looked at Bodet. “I reckon you better let him go, Benjy?” “I don’t see that I have any choice in the matter,” said Bodet. He had pushed back from the table and was looking about him, a little fretfully. “We sha ’n’t get done by Christmas—the rate we’re going now,” he added. Uncle William looked at him. “What makes you in such a hurry, Benjy—?” “Hurry!—Christmas—!” said Benjy. There was a little sniff in the air. “What you going to do with your house when you get it done!” asked Uncle William casually. Benjy stared at him. “I’m going to live in it,” he said with emphasis. “—Providence permitting.” “I’ve been kind o’ thinking about that,” said Uncle William slowly, “—whilst you’ve been hurrying—Seems to me maybe ’twon’t be near so much fun living in your house as ’tis building.... I’ve got a sight of comfort out of building your house,” he added gently. Bodet looked at him. “You ’d get comfort out of an earthquake, William.” “They’re interesting,” admitted Uncle William, “I’ve been in ’em—three of ’em—little ones, you know.” He gazed before him. “I’d rather be in three quakes—three big ones—than build on this Island,” said Bodet firmly.