“He ain’t a boy exactly, Benjy. He looks kind o’ young—not having any whiskers, and chewing a piece of grass the way he does when he’s thinking. But he’s old enough. He’s built a good many houses on the Island, fust and last—much as eighteen or twenty, I should think, counting barns—and hen-coops and fish-houses.”
Bodet smiled. “My house isn’t a hencoop, William.”
“I know, Benjy—it’s going to be a nice house—when you get it started,” said William.
Bodet sighed and threw out an impatient hand.
Uncle William looked at him sympathetically. “Does bother ye a good deal, don’t it?—You might talk with George about it,” he added hopefully, “‘Twon’t hurt any to talk to him—he’s chuck full of ideas. He’s about the best man we’ve got on the Island, I guess,” he added slowly. “The’ ain’t but one thing wrong about George.”
“What’s wrong with him!” asked Bodet with a little, skeptical smile.
“He ain’t married,” said Uncle William.
Bodet laughed out. “Neither are you, William.”
“No, I ain’t married and you ain’t married. But that’s different—we’re old men.”
“Just tottering around,” laughed Bodet.