“Seventy-five rooms,” said Bodet.
“‘Tis a good many,” said Uncle William.
“Traipsing all over the place—I’ll shoot ’em,” said Bodet savagely.
“Shootin’ won’t do any good, Benjy.” Uncle William was mild. “I thought about shootin’ ’em myself—whilst I was bein’ mad this mornin’.”
“They sha ’n’t step on my land—nor yours,” said Bodet. “Do you think I’d have come up here—to the ends of the earth—to be tramped on?”
“Why, no, Benjy—an’ you ain’t goin’ to be tramped on.” Uncle William’s voice was soothing. “But, you see—they’ve got a right to go acrost your land, and across mine.”
Bodet looked at him. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead and put the handkerchief back. “What do you mean William?” he said.
“Set down, Benjy.” Uncle William found a convenient rock. “It’s in the deed. You see, Andy, he wanted it that way and I never thought much about it, one way or the other—I reckon he wouldn’t ever ’a’ sold it without,” Uncle William added slowly. “Anyway I give it to him, and it runs right by your place—near as I can make out. I’ve been kind o’ thinking about it since I found out.”
Benjy groaned a little.
“I know jest how you feel, Benjy.” Uncle William’s voice held a deep note in in it, “—about rusticators, and havin’ ’em go by your windows, all hours, day and night, a-gabbling and so kind o’ cheerful-like. I do’ ’no’ ’s I could stand it myself.”