Uncle William looked down at his lantern. He took it up.... Then he looked at the letter. “I kind o’ hate to have you read it first—without me.”
“I’ll wait,” said Bodet obligingly.
Uncle William shook his head. “I do’ ’no ’s we ’d better wait.” He blew gently into his lantern and set it down. “Might as well have it whilst we can....I’ve come to think that’s the best way, mebbe. The’s two-three things I didn’t take when I could ’a’ got ’em—easy. They’ve been always tagging me around since.” He settled a little more comfortably in his chair and stretched his big legs. “Go ahead, Benjy,” he said.
Bodet fixed his glasses on his nose and cleared his throat. Juno jumped on Uncle William’s knee, and his hand traveled thoughtfully up and down the grey back while the letter was being read.
A pleased, puzzled look held his face—“Goin’ right to Russia, be they? I can’t seem to understand that, Benjy—What was it she said?”
Bodet turned back and found the place.
“We have decided to go straight to St. Petersburg and then to Vilna, taking a house and spending the winter. Captain Spaulding will take the boat around to Yokohama and we shall join him in the spring—going overland.’.
Uncle William’s face still held its puzzled look—“They won’t touch Iceland... nor Norway ’n’ Sweden?” He shook his head. “Jumped the whole thing—far as I see—Europe, Asia ’n’ Africa, and the Pacific Isles.... Now, what do you suppose they’re up to, doin’ that, Benjy?” He looked at him anxiously.
Bodet folded the letter in his slim fingers and creased it a little. “Perhaps she was homesick—thought how good it would seem to have a home for a little while again.”
“Mebbe she did...” Uncle William lighted the lantern, peering at it with shrewd, wrinkled eyes. “Don’t you set up for me, Benjy.” He looked at him kindly. “The ’ll be a moon, byme-by, you know—Like as not I’ll be putterin’ round quite a spell. You go to bed.”