A NEW CLIENT
When Albert arose the next morning the sun was just appearing round and
red out of the ocean, and a crisp breeze blowing into the open windows.
He heard the stir of some one below, and, dressing quickly, descended to
the sitting-room. No one was there, and he stood for a moment looking at
the curiously framed paintings that almost covered the wall.
One in particular caught his eye. It was a ship careened on the ocean
with waves breaking upon her. She was resting on rocks that barely
showed beneath, and in her rigging, heavily covered with ice, were five
men. All around was the sea, tossed into giant waves, curling and
breaking about the stranded vessel. He noted the life-like shading of
the green and white billows; the ice that covered every shroud and rope
and spar; and peering out of a cabin door was a woman holding a babe in
her arms. In a way it was a ghastly picture, and one that held his
attention from all the rest.
It was framed in a broad flat moulding covered with shells. He was still
gazing at it when he heard Uncle Terry's voice bidding him good morning.
"Ain't ye up a little arly?" said that worthy; "I hope ye slep' well. I
ginerally roust out by day-light an' put out the light an' then start a
fire, but thar was no need o' you gittin' out so soon."
"I think the waves woke me," replied Albert, "and the morning is so
beautiful I couldn't waste it in bed."
"I'm goin' over to the cove to mend a trap," continued Uncle Terry, "an'
if ye'r' willin', I'd like ter hev ye go along too. The wimmin'll hev
breakfast ready by that time, an' then I'll take ye up to Seal Cove an'
see if yer boat's thar."
He seemed depressed and not inclined to talk, and as Albert sat on an
overturned dory and watched him puttering away over a lobster trap, he
began to feel sorry for him. His hat had fallen off and the sea winds
blew his scant fringe of gray hair over his bald head. His brown shirt
was open at the throat, disclosing a bony neck, and his well-worn
garments showed the outlines of a somewhat wasted form. What impressed
Albert more than all this was the dejected manner of Uncle Terry. It was
as if an unexpected sorrow had come upon him. When he finished fixing
the trap he pulled a dory in that was moored out in the cove and
carefully bailed and wiped it clean. When this was done he said almost
wistfully: "I've worried a good deal 'bout what you told me last night,
an' I'd like ter have a good talk with ye. I s'pose ye'r' anxious ter
see yer friends an' let 'em know ye'r' all safe, an' I'll take ye up the
island the fust thing an' then go an' pull my traps, and then if ye'r'
willin' we'll sot down, if it ain't askin' too much o' ye ter wait," he
added almost pathetically. "I'll get Telly to show ye her picturs, and
mebbe ye can give her some pints as'll help her."
"I shall be more than glad to do so," replied Albert, "but if that
shipwreck scene is hers, she needs no advice from me."
Uncle Terry looked pleased, but made no answer. On the way back to the
house he said: "I'd ruther ye'd make no mention to the wimmin of our
hevin' any talk."
At the breakfast table he seemed in better spirits, and more like
himself.
"I think ye told me last night," he remarked, addressing Albert, "that
ye painted picturs yerself some." And then turning to Telly he added:
"Mr. Page is comin' back here bimeby, jest to look 'round, an' mebbe
he'd like ter look at some o' yourn."
Telly's face flushed slightly. "I shall be delighted," added Albert, "if
Miss Terry will favor me. Will you?" he added in a persuasive tone.
"I do not feel that my pictures are good enough to show to strangers,"
she answered in a low voice; "I have never had any lessons or any one to
show me."
"From what I've noticed in your sitting-room," responded Albert quickly,
"you need not be ashamed to show them to an artist. I am not one. I only
sketch a little, just as a remembrance of places I visit, but I love
pictures even better than music."
"I will gladly show you what I have done," replied Telly simply, and
there the conversation ended. When the meal was over Albert observed:
"With your permission, Mrs. Terry, I would like to make a sketch of your
home and the lighthouse, and after Mr. Terry has helped me find my
friends I am coming back." Then turning to Telly he added: "I can then
feel easy in my mind, and shall enjoy looking over your paintings."
"Won't ye stop to dinner with us?" asked Aunt Lissy, as Albert thanked
her for her hospitality; "we'll be glad to have ye."
"I will, thank you," replied Albert; "this point, and in fact this
village, was such a surprise to me, and is so charming, I am going to
devote all my day to it." Then bidding the ladies good morning, he
followed Uncle Terry over to the cove, where they boarded his dory and
started out to find the "Gypsy."
Albert had spoken truly when he expressed surprise at the charms of the
Cape and Uncle Terry's home, and not the least of it was the hospitality
shown him in that home. But perhaps the greatest surprise of all was the
finding of so fair a girl as Telly hid away, as it were, in an
unheard-of corner of the world. "And she has the soul of an artist in
her," he said to himself, as Uncle Terry pulled the dory out of the
harbor and up the coast towards where he had been left stranded; "and
what eyes, and what a perfect form!"
Then, as good luck would have it, when they rounded a point, there was
the "Gypsy" following the island shore down to meet them. Albert stood
up and waved his cap. He was answered by the whistle, and in an instant
every one on board of her, even the crew, were out on her bows and
waving caps lustily. The skipper kept the whistle blowing, and as the
yacht slowed down and Uncle Terry pulled alongside, Albert was seized
and almost dragged on board. Frank was so overjoyed he hugged him, and
then gave vent to a war-whoop that might have been heard the entire
length of Southport Island.
"We guessed what had happened to you," he said, "when we picked up your
boat. It was almost dark when one of the crew saw an empty boat floating
up the bay. We were all down in the cabin at that time, and had not
noticed how late it was, when he called us. Two of the crew lowered the
other boat, and when they got back with yours we nearly had a fit. The
missing cushions and loop on the painter gave us a clue, and we half
expected you would find your way back to the 'Gypsy' by land."
"I guess you're not much acquainted with the interior of Southport
Island," put in Albert; and then going forward he brought back Uncle
Terry, and introduced him to the crowd. By this time the "Gypsy" was
almost down to the Cape, and under one bell, and the direction of Uncle
Terry, she slowly steamed in. That worthy man had been looking over her,
and his admiration was evident.
"A purty slick craft, boys," he said to the party, as the "Gypsy's"
anchor ceased rattling out of the hawse-hole,--"a purty slick craft, an'
must 'a' cost a heap o' money."
Then as he pulled his own weather-beaten dory that had been towing
astern along to the gangway, Albert stepped up to him and said in a low
voice:
"Will you excuse me a little while, Mr. Terry? I want to change my
clothes, and in an hour or so I will come ashore, and not only thank
you for all your kindness, but make you a visit."
When Uncle Terry had gone Albert related his experiences for the past
eighteen hours to the party--that is, all but one incident, or rather
surprise, and that he omitted for reasons best known to himself. Then
nothing would do but they must all go ashore, and look the quaint little
village over.
"I wish you would keep away from the lighthouse, boys," Albert said, as
they were getting into their boat. "Mr. Terry's family are rather
sensitive people and may not like to have a lot of us trooping around
their place. I am going over there this afternoon to make a sketch, and
then I'll ask permission, and we'll all go there some other day."
He had whispered to Frank to remain on the yacht, and when the rest were
gone he said to him: "Frank, I am going to confide something to you, and
I want you to promise me on your honor not to hint it to any of our
friends." When that astonished young man had promised to keep mum,
Albert continued, "The fact is, Frank, I've tumbled into an adventure,
and fallen in love with a girl on sight, and without having exchanged
ten words with her! She is Mr. Terry's daughter, and has eyes that take
your breath away, and a form like the Venus of Milo. She paints
pictures that are a wonder, considering she never has taken a lesson,
and has a face more bewitching than any woman's I ever saw. It is like a
painter's dream."
"Well, you have gone daft, old man," replied the astonished Frank,
breaking into a laugh in which Albert joined, and then adding with
mischief in his eyes, "Does she take good care of her teeth and
fingernails, Bert?"
Albert frowned. "Don't for heaven's sake mention her in the same breath
with those cigarette-smoking blemishes on their sex!" he answered; and
then he added more pleasantly, "But you haven't heard it all yet. This
unique old man, who saved me from sleeping all night in a thicket of
briers, and who has opened his heart and home to me, has fallen into the
clutches of--Nicholas Frye!"
"Great Scott!" exclaimed Frank, "and how on earth did he ever find Frye,
or Frye find him? Was your old man of the island hunting around Boston
for some one to rob him?"
"That I do not know yet," replied Albert; "all I know is that Mr. Terry
has paid Frye about four hundred dollars, and, as he says, so far has
nothing to show for it. What the business was I expect to learn later.
Now what I am coming at is this: can't you manage to leave me here for
the rest of the day, or, better still, make it two days? I'll tell the
boys I've tumbled into a bit of law business, which is what I think will
come out of it, and you can run down to Bar Harbor, or out to Monhegan
and back here to-morrow night."
"Well, I'll do that gladly," replied Frank; and then he added with a
droll smile, "It will give you a chance to say a few sweet things to
this girl with the wondrous eyes, eh, Bert?"
"Please don't joke me about her before the rest of the crowd," said
Albert; "remember your promise!"
"Well, you told the truth when you said you had fallen in love with her,
I guess," observed Frank; "a fellow that feels that way about a girl
must be in love."
"My dear boy," replied Albert, "what you say may be true, but I've not
yet insisted upon her singing 'Ben Bolt' three times in one evening."