week, off and on I should think. Couldn't seem to get ust to not havin'
him around."

"Reckon he's dead by this time?" Andy spoke hopefully. A little green
gleam had crept into his eye.

Uncle William leaned over, looking down at him reproachfully. "Now, what
makes you say that, Andy? He don't hev no more call to be dead'n we do.
We was both fond of him."

Andy stirred uneasily. "I liked him well enough, but it ain't any use
talkin' about folks that's moved away, or dead."

"Do you feel that way, Andy? Now I don't feel so." Uncle William's gaze
was following a floating cloud. "I feel as if they was kind o' near us;
not touching close, but round somewheres. Now, I wouldn't really say
Benjy Bodet was in that cloud--"

Andy stared at it suspiciously.

"He ain't really there, but it makes me feel the way he did. I used to
get up kind o' light in the mornin', 'cause I was goin' to see Benjy.
The' wa'n't ever anybody I was so fond of, except Jennie--and you,
mebbe."

Andy's gaze was looking out to sea. "You was mighty thick with that
painter chap," he said gruffly.

"That wa'n't the same,"--Uncle William spoke thoughtfully,--"not quite
the same."