“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.”