ANDY was subdued after the real-estate man’s visit. “You and Benjy might sell me back some,” he suggested. He was sitting in Uncle William’s door, looking out over the moor. Uncle William was busy inside.

He came and stood in the doorway, his spectacles on his forehead, and looked at the landscape. “What ’d you do with it, Andy—if we give it back to you?” he asked.

“I’d sell it to that Carter man—quick as scat—’fore he changed his mind.”

Uncle William looked down at him. Then he looked at the moor.

“It’s val’able property,” said Andy.

“I do’ ’no’ as I know what val’able property is.” Uncle William’s eyes rested fondly on the moor, with its rocks and tufted growth and the clear, free line of sky.

“Val’able property?” said Andy. He gazed about him a little. “Val’able property’s suthin’ you’ve got that somebody else wants and ’ll pay money for—right off—That’s what I call val’able property.”

The clouds were riding up the horizon—the breeze from the moor blew in and the cloud shadows sailed across. Uncle William lifted his face a little. “Seems to me anything’s val’able ’t you kind o’ love and take comfort with,” he said slowly.

Andy grunted. “Guess I’ll go ’long up the road,” he said.

“Up to Benjy’s?” Uncle William looked at him wistfully. “I told Benjy I was coming up,” he said, “But it’s kind o’ late—” He looked at the sun, “and it’s warm, too.”

Andy made no reply.

“I reckon I’ll go ’long with you,” said Uncle William—“You wait a minute whilst I get my plans.”

They went up the road together in the clear light, the sun shining hot on their backs. The little breeze had died out and the clouds were drifting toward the horizon. Uncle William glanced wistfully at a big rock by the roadside. “We might set down a spell,” he suggested. He moved toward the rock. “I’ve been stirring since daylight,” he said, “It don’t seem quite right to keep goin’ every minute so. Benjy’s a pretty active man—for his years,” he added. He seated himself on the rock and stretched his great legs in the sun—He drew a long breath. “I do take a sight o’ comfort—not doin’ things,” he said. “Set down, Andy.” He patted the rock beside him.

Andy glanced at the sun. “We ’ll be late,” he said.

“Yes, we ’ll be late, like enough. Smells good up here, don’t it!” Uncle William snuffed the salt air with relish. “I al’ays like to stop along here somewheres. It makes a putty good half-way place.”

Andy sat down. “Benjy’s wastin’ time on that house of his,” he said glumly.

“Yes, he’s wastin’ time.” Uncle William looked about him placidly. “Benjy don’t mind time—nor wastin’ it. What he wants is a house that he wants. I do’ ’no’s I blame him for that—I like a house that suits me, too.” His eye traveled back to the little house perched comfortably on its rocks.

Andy’s face held no comment.

Uncle William sighed a little. “You can’t help wantin’ things the way you want ’em,” he said. “And Benjy ain’t ever been married—no more ’n me. Now, you’ve been married—”

“Yes, I’ve been married—a good many year,” said Andy sombrely.

“That’s it! An’ you know what ’tis to want things—’t you can’t have! But Benjy ’n’ me—” Uncle William looked around him—at the great rocks on either side and the big, cloudless sky and the road running to the horizon and dipping beyond—“Me and Benjy—we’ve missed it—somehow.”

Andy cast a scornful eye at him. But his face, set toward the horizon line, was non-committal.

“I can see it in Benjy plainer ’n I can in me,” went on Uncle William, “how it acts—wanting things jest so—and kind o’ dancing all round if you can’t have ’em.... I reckon that’s what marryin ’s for—to kind o’ steady ye like—ballast, you know. You can’t ride quite so high, maybe, but you can steer better...”

“Somebody’.l steer,” said Andy.

Uncle William cast the flick of a smile at him. “Well, you wouldn’t want two captains, Andy—not on the same boat, would ye? That’s what makes all the trouble, I reckon—” he went on thoughtfully, “wantin’ to go two ways to once. Seems ’f folks didn’t know what they got married for—some of ’em.”

“Well, I do ’no’,” said Andy without enthusiasm.

Uncle William looked at him with a quiet smile. “You wouldn’t want to get a divorce, would you, Andy?”

“Lord, no!” said Andy.

Uncle William’s smile grew deeper. “I reckoned you ’d feel that way—Seems ’f the rivets all kind o’ loosen up—when folks talk about separatin’ and divorce and so on—things get kind o’ shackly-like and wobble some.”

Andy grinned. “They don’t wobble down to our house. I’d like t............