IV
UNCLE WILLIAM finished the last saucepan and carried it, with careful flourish, to the stove, where the top was piled high with pots and kettles. He found a place for the saucepan and deposited it with cautious touch. Then he stood back and surveyed the topply pile with hopeful eye.
Benjamin, seated on a rock outside, was whistling softly. “You most ready, William,” he called.
Uncle William glanced hastily toward the window, then his glance traveled about the room. “Pretty near, Benjy,” he said. “You wait a minute whilst I chuck two-three more things out o’ sight.”
Benjamin rose and stretched his long legs. The sun shone brilliantly and the salt air was alive with the freshness of summer. He strolled to the window and looked in.... Uncle William, on his knees by the red lounge, was poking things under with swift, efficient touch.
He looked up and nodded. “Don’t you wait, Benjy. I’m most done. The’s just two-three things got strayed around—” He gathered up a plate and saucer, with the remnants of Juno’s supper, and carried them across to the sink. He opened the cupboard door underneath and thrust them in.... “The’s a few things left,” he said apologetically, “if I raked way in under for ’em, mebbe. But we’ve got enough to run along—quite a spell now.” He glanced affectionately at the stove and the rows of shining cups and plates ranged on the shelf above the sink.
Benjamin’s eye followed the glance with a touch of amusement and a little impatience, “Oh, come on, William. You ’d let things run a week and then you ’d scrub all day—”
Uncle William’s face beamed. “That’s right, Benjy. That’s just the way I like it—now, how ’d you know!”
“Well, I have eyes,” said Benjamin dryly, “and I’ve been living with you a month or so, you know.”