"I'm sorry we didn't know ye were comin'," said Aunt Lissy, "so't we could be better prepared for company."
"I wish you wouldn't consider me company," replied Albert; "just think I am one of the family, and let it go at that."
The long ride in the crisp sea air, following the scanty railroad lunch, had given him a most amazing appetite, and the bountiful supper of stewed chicken and cold lobster, not to mention other good things of Aunt Lissy's providing, received a hearty acceptance. To have these people unaffectedly glad to see him, and so solicitous of his personal comfort, carried him back to his own home and mother of years before in a way that touched him. He felt himself among friends, and 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."