nd friends that
were glad to see him and meant to show it. Although it was dark when
supper was over, he could not resist going out on the rocks and
listening a few minutes to the waves as they beat upon them. There was
no moon, but the lighthouse gleam over his head faintly outlined the
swells, as one by one they tossed their spray up to where he stood; back
of him the welcome glow of Uncle Terry's home, and all around the wide
ocean, dark and sombre. What a change from the busy hive of men he had
left that morning! Only a brief space was he left to contemplate it,
when he heard a voice just back of him saying:

"Here's yer coat, Mr. Page; the night's gittin' chilly, and ye better
put it on 'fore ye ketch cold."

When the two returned to the house Albert found a bright fire burning in
the sitting-room, and going to the entry way, where he had left his
valise, to get a box of cigars for Uncle Terry, found that the valise
had disappeared.

"I put yer things in yer room," said the old man, and handing him a lamp
he added, "ye know whar 'tis now, I hope, so make yerself tew hum."

Later, when they were all gathered about the fire, both the "wimmin
folks" with their sewing, and Uncle Terry enjoying one of the cigars
Albert had brought him, the old man's face gleamed as genial as the
firelight. It was a genuine treat to him to have this young man for
company, and he showed it. He told stories of the sea, of storm and
shipwreck, and curious experiences that had come to him during the many
years he had dwelt beside the ocean; and while Albert listened, stealing
occasional glances at the sweet-faced but plainly clad girl whose eyes
were bent upon her sewing, the neighboring waves kept up their monotone,
and the fire sparkled and glowed with a ruddy light.

"Don't you ever get tired of hearing the waves beat so near you?" asked
Albert at last.

"Wal, there's suthin' curious 'bout that," answered Uncle Terry; "I've
got so uster 'em they seem sorter necessary ter livin', an' when I go
'way it's hard fer me ter sleep fer missin' em. Why, don't yer like ter
hear 'em?" he added curiously.

"Oh, yes," replied Albert; "I enjoy them always, and they are a lullaby
that puts me to sleep at once."

It was but little past nine when Uncle Terry arose, and bringing in a
basket of wood observed, "I guess I'll turn in middlin' arly so's to git
up arly'n pull my traps 'fore breakfast, an' then I'll take ye out
fishin'. The mackerel's b