Uncle William’s face lightened. “I don’t mind a mite myself—” he explained, “but I was kind o’ ’fraid you ’d want to be inside—where folks can’t see you doing things so.”
“Never!” said Bodet, “—with the sky for a ceiling and the clouds for frescoes—what more could a man want?” He waved his towel briskly at the landscape.
Uncle William tiptoed back to the house. “He likes it—out there,” he said.
Her face twinkled and she set the dumplings on the table with a brisk movement. “He’s a nice man,” she said.
“You comin’, Benjy?” called Uncle William.
While they ate, the handmaiden flitted in and out. She looked out for their wants and washed pots and kettles on the bench by the door and hummed bits of song—and once a little whistle was wafted in the door—but it stopped suddenly, as if quick fingers had cut it off.
Uncle William looked at Benjy and chuckled. “Some like having a canary around, ain’t it? Kind o’ bubbles and goes along by itself!—She likes doin’ ’em,” he added. “The’s a lot of comfort having folks around you that like doin’ things.... Now, Harr’et—you ain’t ever seen the way Harr’et does ’em, hev you?”
Bodet shook his head.
Uncle William smiled, looking at something in his mind. “Harr’et don’t really like doin’ ’em,” he said confidingly, “I’ve seen her look at the bottom of a pan as if she hated it, kind of.... She gets ’em clean, you know, but she don’t really enjoy her cleanness—not really.... If you’re down there a spell, watchin’ her and kind o’ settin’ round—you get to feelin’ ’s if nobody ’d o’t to live—men-folks, special.... I do’ ’no’ what it is about her,” said Uncle William reflectively—“about Harr’et.... She’s kind o’ straight in the back and her shoulders don’t bend much.... Seems’s if the’ was suthin’ wrong about a woman—an old woman like Harr’et—if her shoulders don’t give a little.” He sat looking before him.... “The’s suthin’ about ’em, I do’ ’no’ what it is—about women—when their shoulders get a little mite bent, that makes me feel happy inside—Seems ’s if the Lord had made ’em that way a-purpose—kind o’ gentle-like, you know—so ’s ’t they could bend easy—and stay kind o’ curved over, and not mind. I’ve set and watched ’em in meetin’, a good many times, when they didn’t know I was looking—and I’ve took a sight o’ comfort with ’em.”
Bodet looked at him critically. “I don’t see that you bend very much, William.” Uncle William’s broad shoulders spread themselves and he drew a deep breath. “That’s different, Benjy.... Men hadn’t o’t to bend—not without they have rheumatism or cramps and things.”