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Uncle Terry; A Story of the Maine Coast, a novel by Charles Clark Munn |
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Chapter 20. A Pair Of Blue Eyes |
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_ CHAPTER XX. A PAIR OF BLUE EYES Some men have their fancy caught by a woman's face or form, or both; others by a look, a word, a smile. A witty reply to some masculine jest has tipped many an arrow for Cupid and won for a maiden a lover. The appealing yet wondering glance that Albert Page met as he bowed to the girl standing beside the table that evening was one he never afterwards forgot. It was only one, for after that, and during the entire meal, her blue eyes were kept veiled by their long lashes, or modestly directed elsewhere. "It's a charming spot down here," he remarked soon after the meal began, "and so hidden away that it is a surprise. I noticed the light as we came in, but did not see the village." "Wal, ye didn't miss anything," responded his host; "none o' the houses are much for style, an' mebbe it's lucky they're hid behind the rocks." "I thought them quaint and comfortable," observed Albert; "but what an odd name you have for the place! Why do you call it Saint's Rest?" "Chiefly 'cause none o' the people have any chance to become sinners, I reckon," was the answer; "it's a trifle lonesome in the winter, though." "I suppose fishing is your principal occupation here," continued Albert, seeing that sentiment was not considered by Uncle Terry; "your land does not seem adapted for cultivation." "There ain't much chance for tillin'," he replied; "the land's wuss'n whar I was brung up down in Connecticut, an' thar we had ter round up the sheep once a week an' sharpen thar noses on the grin'stun! We manage ter raise 'nough ter eat, though." When the meal was over Uncle Terry said, "It's nice an' cool out on the rocks, and thar's some seats out thar; if ye enjoy smoking we best go out while the wimmin are doin' the dishes." The moon that Frank had planned to use was nearing its full, and high overhead, and as the two men, so widely separated in all respects, sought congeniality in tobacco out on that lonesome point, Albert could not curb his admiration for the scene. His offer of a cigar to his host had been accepted, and as that quaint man sat quietly enjoying an odor and flavor he was certainly unaccustomed to, Albert said: "This experience has been a surprise to me from the moment I met you. I had an ugly hour's scramble over the rocks and through a tangle of scrub spruce and briers until I was utterly lost and believed this island an impassable wilderness. Then you came along and brought me to one of the most beautiful spots I ever saw. I should like to stay here all summer and do nothing but look at this magnificent ocean view and sketch these bold shores." "Do you paint picturs too?" queried Uncle Terry, suddenly interested. "Telly's daft on doing that, an' is at it all the time she can git!" Then he added with a slight inflection of pride, "Mebbe ye noticed some o' her picturs in the sittin'-room?" "I saw a lot of pictures there," answered Albert, "but it was too dark to see them well. I should like to look at them in the morning." "Ye'll hev plenty o' time," was the reply, "I must pull my lobster traps fust, an' after that I'll take ye in my dory an' we'll go an' find yer boat. I guess she must be lyin' in Seal Cove, the only openin' 'twixt here an' the head she'd be likely ter run into." "And so your daughter is an artist, is she?" asked Albert, indifferent now as to where the "Gypsy" was or when he was likely to return to her. He came near adding that that fact was another surprise, but did not. Instead he said, "Has she ever taken lessons?" "No, it comes nat'ral to her," replied Uncle Terry; "she showed the bent o' her mind 'fore she was ten years old, an' she's pestered me ever since ter git her canvas an' paints an' sich. But then, I'm willin' ter," he added in a tender tone. "Telly's a good girl and Lissy and me set great store by her. She's all we've got in the world;" then pointing to a small white stone just to the right of where they were, he added, "Thar's whar the other one's been layin' fer mor'n twenty years." "This one has grown to be a very beautiful girl," said Albert quietly, "and you have reason to be proud of her." Uncle Terry made no reply, but seemed lost in a reverie, and Albert slowly puffed his cigar and looked out on the ocean, and along the ever-widening path of moonlight. He very much wished that this fair girl, so quaintly spoken of, were there beside him, that he might talk to her about her art. And as he grew curious and a bit surprised at the sort of people he had unexpectedly come upon, a little desire to know at least one of them a good deal better came to him. How it could be managed, and what excuse to give for remaining longer than the morrow, he could not see, and yet very much wished to find one. He looked toward the house, white in the moonlight, with the tall lighthouse and its beacon flash just beyond, and wondered if he should see the girl again that night. He hoped he might, and was on the point of suggesting they go in and visit a little with the ladies when Uncle Terry said: "I believe ye called yerself a lawyer, Mr. Page, an' from Boston. Do ye happen to know a lawyer thar that has got eyes like a cat, an' a nose like a gentleman from Jerusalem, an' rubs his hands as if he was washin' 'em while he's talkin'?" Albert gave a start. "I do, Mr. Terry," he answered, "I know him well. His name is Frye, Nicholas Frye." "An' as you're a lawyer, an' one that looks to me as honest," continued Uncle Terry, "what is your honest opinion o' this Mr. Frye?" "That is a question I would rather not answer," replied Albert, "until I know why you ask it, and what your opinion of Mr. Frye is. Mine might not flatter him, and I do not believe in speaking ill of anybody unless forced to." Uncle Terry was silent, evidently revolving a serious problem in his mind. "I am goin' ter beg yer pardon, Mr. Page," he said at last, "fer speakin' the way I did regardin' lawyers in gineral. My 'sperence with 'em has been bad, an' naterally I don't trust 'em much. I've had some dealin's with this ere Frye 'bout a matter I don't want to tell 'bout, an' the way things is workin' ain't as they should be. I b'lieve I'm robbed right along, an' if ye'r' willin' ter help me I shall be most tarnally grateful, an' will give ye my word I'll never let on ter anybody what ye say--an' Silas Terry never yit broke his promise." Albert silently offered his hand to Uncle Terry, who grasped it cordially. "I will tell you, Mr. Terry," he said after the handshake, "all I know about Mr. Frye and what my opinion is of him. What your business with him is, matters not. I am certain you are an honest man and will keep your word. I recently worked for Mr. Frye six months and left him to open an office for myself. He offered me more than double what he had been paying to remain, but no money would tempt me to do it. In that six months I became satisfied Nicholas Frye was the most unprincipled villain ever masked under the name of lawyer. If all those you have had business with were like him I don't wonder at your remark to-day." Uncle Terry leaned forward with elbows on his knees, resting his face in the palms of his hands, and ejaculated: "I knew it! I knew it! I'm a blamed old fool an' ought ter hev a keeper put over me!" Then turning to Albert he added, "I've paid that dum thief over four hundred dollars this year an' hain't got a scrap o' paper ter show fer't, and nothin's been done so fer as I kin see 'bout the business." He meditated a few moments, and then turning around suddenly added, "My wife an' Telly don't know nothin' 'bout this, and I don't want they should. Thar's a sucker born every minit and two ter ketch him, an' I b'lieve it! I've been ketched an' skinned fer dead sure! I want ter sleep on't, an' mebbe in the mornin' I'll tell ye the hull story, an' how I've been made a fool of. I'm beginnin' ter think I kin trust ye." "I thank you for your good opinion," answered Albert, "and if I can help you any way I will." When the two returned to the house Albert was shown to a room that reminded him of his boyhood home, the old-fashioned bed, spotless counterpane, and muslin curtains all seemed so sweet and wholesome. A faint odor of lavender carried him back to the time when his mother's bed linen exhaled the same sweet fragrance. He lighted a cigar and sat down by a window where crisp salt sea air came in, and tried to fathom what manner of business Uncle Terry could have with Frye. It was an enigma, and as he looked out on the wide expanse of moonlit ocean where every wave sparkled with silvery light, and listened to the ceaseless rhythm of the long swells breaking upon the rocks almost under his window, he could not solve it. That the odd-spoken old man was in sore distress was evident, and for an hour Albert watched the sparkling sea in vain imaginings as to what Uncle Terry's business with Frye could be. And into his meditation also crept the face and form of the girl he had first seen watching the sunset. _ |
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