She looked at him—“That young fellow that’s building his house for him?” She nodded at Bodet, who had taken his hat and gone outside.
Uncle William nodded back—“That’s the one, Celia—You ain’t ever seen him, have you?”
“I’ve seen him out of the window,” she said shortly, “That’s near enough for me—seeing him go by.”
Uncle William’s face fell a little. “I guess I’ll go ’long up with Benjy,” he said.
GEORGE MANNING looked about him with satisfaction. The walls of the new house were up and boarded in—so much was safe. He knew Bodet might appear any minute with a completely new plan—unless it could be staved off—but he reflected comfortably, as he looked up at the great broadside of boards before him, that he probably would not tear down the whole thing any more.... The sound of saws and hammers came with a cheerful falling rhythm—now together, and now in hurried broken notes—and the men on the roof were singing—a great blond Swede leading them.
Manning stepped into the living-room and stopped and gave a few directions to the masons and then moved over to the window and looked out. Far below him, the harbor reflected the dear sun and he squinted across it, scanning the horizon for the little black steamer that was to bring Portland cement and a consignment of windows. The windows had been due three weeks now—and the work would be handicapped if they did not come soon. He turned away and attacked his work, whistling softly.
“Morning, George.” It was Uncle William—big and happy—in the doorway, beaming down upon him.
“Morning, Uncle—Mr. Bodet come up with you?”
“He’s outside somewheres. He’s got a new idee—about the well.”
Manning smiled a little—a shrewd, dry smile—and drew the plane toward him, “I don’t mind his having new plans for wells,” he said.
Uncle William sat down on a nail-keg and picked up a bit of pine, feeling in his pocket for his knife. He drew it out, and squinted across it, and opened the smaller blade, running it casually along his thumb.
George Manning’s plane followed a curling shaving down the length of the board and withdrew. There was a clean smell of pine mingling with the salt air.
Uncle William whittled a few minutes in silence. Then he looked through the great window-space, to the harbor. “I feel queer,” he said thoughtfully—“I feel dretful queer.”