Uncle William stood up, snapping his knife together. “I guess I’ll go find Benjy,” he said. He wandered out and sat down on a rock near by. Over the top of a scattered pile of lumber he could see Benjy’s head moving back and forth.
“Best kind of weather,” murmured Uncle William. He sat down.
By and by Benjy appeared around the corner of the lumber.
“We’re going to have dinner up here,” announced Uncle William. “Celia sent word by Gunnion’s boy she ’d have it here by twelve, sharp.” Uncle William’s face was guileless.
Benjy sat down. “I can’t get it through Marshall’s head—what I want about that well,” he said testily. “I’ll have to see Manning about it.”
“George ’ll fix it for ye all right,” said Uncle William.
“Not yet, I reckon—He didn’t say—You’re going to have a nice house, Benjy!” His eyes rested on the rough frame, “It’s getting to look like I thought ’twould—nice and low—kind o’ like an old hen, you know—spreading her wings and settling down.”
Bodet’s face followed his look. “It’s coming out all right. Your George Manning knows his business—knows what he’s about.”
“He’s a nice boy,” said Uncle William. “The’s things about him might be different—might be a little different,” he added cautiously.
“I don’t know what they are. But I shall have a chance to find out, I suppose—before we’re through.”
Bodet stared at him a little. “He’s not likely to have a much bigger job on hand—is he?”
“Mebbe not,” said Uncle William hastily, “I do’ ’no’ what I mean, like enough. I just had a feeling—kind of a feeling, that George wa ’n’t perfect.”
Bodet laughed out. “I should hope not—if I’m to have dealings with him. Come on in and talk with him about the well.”
They went toward the house. Through the window they could see the young man across the room, measuring a space on the wall. He stood back and looked at it thoughtfully—then he turned and saw them. “I was thinking about the width here,” he said, “If your picture you’re going to put here is five by nine—I’ll have to get the space on this side—somehow.”
“We’re coming in,” said Bodet, “I wanted to talk to you—Marshall’s all at sea with that well of his.”
“I told him—” said Uncle William. His mouth closed on the word, and a little smile crept up to it. “Why, Celia—I didn’t think you ’d be along yet—not quite a while yet.”