IN March Jimmu Yoshitomo arrived and, soon after him, a cablegram from Alan and Sergia. “Hurray!” Uncle William leaned out of the window, waving it, “It’s come, Benjy—Didn’t I tell you it ’d come!” Bodet hurried up and took it from him, reading it aloud, Uncle William leaning over him—

“Wilhelmina Bodet Woodworth and Mother both doing well.”

Uncle William leaned out further, reading it over his shoulder. “Wil-helmina Bodet—Kind o’ queer, ain’t it, Benjy?”

“It’s a girl—and she’s named for you,” said Bodet proudly.

“Why, so ’t is—Willie-Meeny.” Uncle William regarded the paper fondly. “—and it’s a girl, you think, do you, Benjy?... I’m glad it’s a girl. I al’ays like little girls—they have ways with ’em.” He took the paper and handled it tenderly—turning it over and looking at it as if something further might crop up. “Jest think how it come to us, Benjy—scootin’ round the world—’Twa ’n’t twenty-four hours old and here ’tis—and we knowin’ all about it—and seeing her lying there, all kind o’ quiet, and the little one—and folks steppin’ around soft and doin’ things.... I reckon that’s what the Lord made ’em for—” He held off the telegram and looked at it—“so ’s ’t we could be happy everywheres—seeing folks all in a minute—Seems like all one fam’ly. You don’t need to travel—just sit still and look.”

“There’s considerable travel going on still—” said Bodet smiling. He was looking out across the harbor, to the world of steamboat lines and railroads and automobiles threading the earth off there. “People don’t sit still a great deal,” he said. “There’s quite a lot of machinery humming.” His hand motioned from the top of the world where they stood, off to the sun-lit space below.

Uncle William nodded, looking at it thoughtfully. “I’ve thought about ’em—when I’ve been sailin’—all them machines. I reckon they’re made for folks that can’t travel in their minds—don’t know how—it kind o’ makes feet and legs for ’em so ’s ’t they can get around faster. They feel sort o’ empty in their minds, and lonesome, like enough, and then they take a train and go somewheres—or a toboggan slide, or suthin’, and they feel better—Don’t you reckon that’s the way ’tis, Benjy?” He looked at him hopefully.

“I shouldn’t wonder at all,” said Bodet—“There ought to be some excuse for clatter.”... The Japanese servant appeared around the corner of the house, moving a mysterious, respectful hand and Bodet joined him.

Uncle William looked at them a minute. Then he tucked the telegram in his pocket. “Guess I’ll go tell folks about it,” he said.

Jimmu Yoshitomo took possession of Bodet and his belongings as thoroughly as Celia had taken possession of Uncle William—though with possibly a little less flurry. He made a little garden for him out by the house, and raised flowers and vegetables and planted flowers alongside the house and among the rocks—and found a sheltered corner where wisteria would live through the winter—if carefully protected.

By September the wisteria had sent great shoots against the house, and the flowers among the rocks were a brilliant mass of bloom. The Japanese moved among them like a dusky blossom in white coat and trousers—his century-old face turned always toward Bodet and his needs.

Andy, coming up the road, regarded him with disfavor—“Monkey man and monkey clo’es,” he said scornfully.

“Benjy takes a sight o’ comfort with him,” responded William.

They made their way toward the house, and Jimmu Yoshitomo approached from the garden, bowing low.

Uncle William bowed low in return. Andy remained stiffly erect, detached from all these things.

“Don’t you stop workin’, Jimmie Yosh,” said Uncle William kindly—“We’re just goin’ to set ’round a spell.” They went on toward the house and Jimmu Yoshitomo returned to his flowers.<............