"Old Mis' Bodet."

Andy's eye lighted. "So she did. I'd forgot all about 'em."

Uncle William nodded. "There was a kind of tart she used to make--"

Andy broke in. A look of genuine enthusiasm filled his eye. "I
know--that gingery, pumpkin kind--"

"That's it. And you and me and Benjy used to sit and toast our toes by
the fire and eat it--"

"He was a mean cuss," said Andy.

"Who Benjy? Why, we was al'ays fond of Benjy!" Uncle William's face
beamed over the edge of the roof. "We was fond of him, wa'n't we?"

"I wa'n't," said Andy, shortly. "He' lick a feller every chance he got."

"Yes, that's so--I guess that's so." Uncle William was slapping on the
mortar with heavy skill. "But he did it kind o' neat, didn't he?"
His eye twinkled to his work. "'Member that time you 'borrowed' his
lobster-pot--took it up when it happened to have lobsters in it, and
kep' the lobsters--not to hev 'em waste?"

Andy's face was impassive.

"Oh, you was fond of Benjy!" Uncle William spoke cheeringly. "You've
kind o' forgot, I guess. And I set a heap o' store by him. He was jest
about our age--twelve year the summer they moved away. I cried much as a