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.