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 bitin' good these days, an' mebbe ye'll enjoy it."
Aunt Lissy soon followed and Albert was left alone with Telly. It looked intentional, but he was no less grateful for it. For a few moments he watched her, still intent on her work, and wondered what was in her mind.
"Have you finished my sketches?" he said finally, feeling that was the most direct avenue to her thoughts.
"Not quite," she replied, "I had to go up to the cove to work on one in order to satisfy myself, and a good many days it was too rough to row up there, so that hindered me. I have that one finished, though, and the other almost."
The thought that this girl had rowed four miles every day in order to paint from the original scene of his sketch struck him forcibly.
"May I see the finished one?" he asked.
She brought it, and once more he was surprised. Not only was the picture of herself sitting in the shade of a low spruce reproduced, but the fern-decorated boat near by, the quiet little cove in front, and a view of ocean beyond.
It was a charming picture, and vividly recalled his visit there with her.
"There is only one thing lacking," she said shyly, as he held it at an angle so the firelight would shine upon it, "and I didn't dare put that in without your consent."
"I do not notice anything left out, as I recall the spot," he answered.