Uncle Terry: A Story of the Maine Coast

by Charles Clark Munn

"Just the same," replied Telly, "and always will as long as she has breath. It is, as father says, her only consolation."

"I have thought of that evening many times since," he continued, "and the impression that poor old lady made on me with her piteous supplication. It was unlike anything of the kind that I ever listened to. I wonder," he added musingly, "how it would affect a Boston church congregation some evening to have such an appearing figure, clad as she was, rise and utter the prayer she did. It would startle them, I think."

"I do not think Mrs. Leach would enter one of your city churches," responded Telly, "and certainly not clad as she has to be. She has a little pride left, even if she is poor."

"Oh, I meant no reflection," explained Albert, feeling that Telly thought the old lady needed defending, "only the scene was so impressive, I wondered how it would affect a fashionable church gathering. I think it would do them good," he added candidly, "to listen to a real sincere prayer that came from some one's heart and was not manufactured for the occasion. Those who wear fine silks and broadcloth and sit in cushioned pews seldom hear such a prayer as she uttered that night."

Then as Telly made no response he sat in silence a few moments, mentally contrasting the girl he had really come to woo with those he had met in Boston.

And what a contrast!

This girl clad in a gray dress, severe in its simplicity, and so ill-fitting that it really detracted from the beautiful outlines of her form, though not entirely hiding them, for that was impossible. Her luxuriant tresses were braided and coiled low down on the back of her head, and at her throat a tiny bow of blue. Not an ornament of any name or nature did she wear, not even a single ring. Only the crown of her sunny hair, two little rose leaves in her cheeks, and the queen-like majesty of throat and shoulders and bust, so classic that not one woman in a hundred but would envy her their possession.

And then, what was equally as striking, what a contrast in speech, expression, and ways! Timid to the verge of bashfulness, utterly unaffected, and yet sincere, tender, and thoughtful in each and every utterance; a beautiful flower grown to perfection among the rocks of this seldom visited island, untrained by conventionality and unsullied by the world. "I wonder how she would act if suddenly dropped into the Nasons' home, or what would Alice think of her!" Then as he noted the sad little droop of her exquisite lips, and as she, wondering at his silence, turned her pleading eyes toward him, there came into his heart in an instant a feeling that, despite all her timidity and all her lack of worldly wisdom, he would value her love and confidence far above any woman's he had ever met!

Then, recalling the hint as to her nature disclosed by Uncle Terry, he resolved to probe it there and then, or at least to draw her out a little.

"Miss Terry," he said gently, "do you know I fancy that living here as you have all your life, within sound of the sad sea waves, has woven a little of their melancholy into your nature and a little of their pathos into your eyes. I thought so the first time I saw you, and the more I see of you the more I think it is so."