"Wal, sorter cracked 'bout religion," answered Uncle Terry, "leastwise that's my notion; an' mebbe it's lucky she is, seein' she's poor, an' nothin' but that fer comfort. She's smart 'nuff other ways, though, an' there ain't nothin' goin' on here she don't know. She's kind-hearted too, an' if she had anything ter give, she'd share her last cent with ye. If ennybody's sick, she's allus ready to help. Thar's lots o' wuss folks in the world than the Widder Leach." And then as if that crowned the sum total of her virtues he added, "Telly an' Lissy thinks lots o' her." He paused for breath, and turning to see if they were heading right, resumed his strong and steady pulling. The morning was wondrously fair and still; the sun, a round red ball, had been up not over half an hour, and a mile ahead of them lay Damriscove Island, green and treeless. Close by a flock of seagulls were floating on the still water, and away out seaward the swells were breaking on a long and narrow ledge. "Thar," observed Uncle Terry, pointing to this ledge, "is whar Telly started for shore all alone, just nineteen years ago last March." And then adding, while he watched Albert's averted face, "'Twas an onlucky day fer the poor sailors an' a lucky one for us, fer she's been a heap o' comfort ever since." "Tell me, Uncle Terry," said Albert, "why it is she feels so extremely sensitive regarding her romantic history, and what is the cause of the peculiar moods you spoke of last summer? I noticed it last evening, and it pained me very much." "It's hard tellin'," was the answer, "she's a girl that's given ter broodin' a good deal, an' mebbe when she was told the facts she began ter suspect some o' her ancestors would be lookin' her up some day. She allus has been a good deal by herself sence she got her schoolin', an' most likely doin' lots o' thinkin'. But Telly's all right," he added briefly, "an' the most willin' an' tender-hearted creetur I ever seen or heard on. She'll make an amazin' good wife fer some man, if she ever finds the right 'un." It is needless to say some one else in the boat echoed that belief in thought. When they reached the island Uncle Terry landed, and going to the top of a cliff, scanned the sea for signs of fish. "Mackerel's curus fish," he observed to Albert, who had followed. "They's a good deal like some wimmin: ye never know whar ter find 'em. Yesterday mornin' that cove jest inside o' the pint was 'live with 'em, an' to-day I can't see a sign o' one. We better sit here an' wait a spell till I sight a school." To a dreamer like Albert Page the limitless ocean view he now enjoyed lifted him far above mackerel and their habits. His mind was also occupied a good deal by Telly, and while he desired to please the kindly old man who imagined fishing would entertain him, his heart was not in it.