“Well—I’ll see.” Bodet had taken up the newspaper and was scanning the lines—his glasses perched high. Juno, on the floor beside him, looked up as if she would like to be invited.
Uncle William looked at them both affectionately. Then he stepped out into the night, closing the door with gentle touch.
The night was softly dark, with high stars, and a little breeze blew up from the water.... His lantern swung down the path—his great legs keeping shadowy time to it. Now and then he paused, listening to the little waves that splashed up below, and drawing deep, full breaths of the darkness. He looked up to the stars and his face cleared. The little puzzled look that had come into it with the reading of the letter disappeared. He hummed to himself, as he went, little booming songs that began, and broke off, and ended nowhere—traveling along ahead....
On the beach he disappeared into the little black fish-house and came out bearing a great net that he stowed away in the dory, folding it down in under with watchful eye. He swung his lantern over the mound of net and gave a little running push and leaped in.... The oars in the thole-pins creaked and chugged, as he faded out in the night, and little phosphorescent gleams waked up along the water and ran in flocks behind him.
He rowed steadily out, his eyes on the stars. The night held a stillness—somewhere, through it, a voice might come. He held the boat, dipping the oars lightly and bending his head. He often waited—in the darkness or off on the moor.... Little sounds came—vague stirrings of quiet—and off a little way, the lights on the fishing boats bobbed at anchor. He dipped his oars and rowed again—long, restful pulls that drew on the strength of the night.... Alongside, in a minute, the stem of the Jennie loomed mistily and Uncle William scrambled aboard, fastening the dory and hanging his lantern to the mast—It threw its swaying light on the big figure as it moved about the boat. Over the eastern rim of hill the sky grew mysteriously thin and glowed—and a flood of light dropped on the harbor. The water darkened and the distant boats grew to shapes as the moon rose high, filling herself with light. Uncle William looked up. He put down the coil of rope he was stowing away and leaned back, looking at the clear, yellow ball riding over the hill. His eye traveled to the water and to the dim boats shaping themselves out of the dusk.... A contented smile held the big face.... He had been thinking of Sergia and Alan and his thoughts traveled again—following the track of the moon, out over the water, across the ocean—stretching to Russia and the far east.... Slowly the look grew in his face—a little wonder and a laugh. Then he sat up, looking about him. The filtering moonshine played on his face and he laughed—with low, quiet chuckles—and fell to work, giving the last touches to the boat—making things fast. He rowed back in slow silence. Along the beach, as he came near, little black shapes stood up and greeted him—lobster traps and barrels piled high, ends of dories, and boxes washed by the tide, and fantastic sprawls of net and seaweed. Uncle William stepped among them, with long, high step, and the smile still played on his face. Up on the cliff he could see the red glow of the window. Benjy might be up—might be awake.... Uncle William quickened his steps—
The man looked up with a satisfied, drowsy smile. The paper had dropped from his hand and his head was bent a little toward it. Uncle William nodded to him and hung up the lantern. “I’ve thought of something.”
“Have you?” Bodet sat up, yawning a light breath and feeling for his glasses. He put them on his nose and looked at William. “You were gone long enough to think,” he said.
“Yes—I was gone—quite a spell. I got to looking round,” said Uncle William. “Time gets away putty fast when you’re looking round and kind o’ thinkin’.” He chuckled again, with the big, kind smile that flooded his face. “What do you reckon made them want to go straight to Russia, Benjy?” He was looking at him shrewdly.
Bodet shook his head. “I told you I didn’t know—just a whim, perhaps—”
“Something nicer ’n a whim.... You ’d kind o’ like to think of it yourself—It makes things big somehow—big and kind o’ goin’ on forever-like—” His face was full of the glow now and the eyes behind the spectacles had a misty look—like the blue of the sea when the fog is traveling in.