Butte semi-weekly miner. [volume] (Butte, Mont.) 1886-1890, 1886-12-15
FAY ON THE SEA ROCKS.

What child Will fall m| % MI' OCO"ooy
mid. stopping on his seashore walk. one OF
tho men fran the lighthouse was near; tney
were both looking seaward, towards cna,n OF
sIippery, green rocks, where o fragile nStle
Igurc. with short, futtering dress, $1,000
with both her hands up to hold her hat Inc
breeze might have blown her away, nat ana
all: she looked light as the ana wni1e
.She will, sir; she'll get drownded," said
the lighthouse man In the most matoer-oi-
fact way. "My old woman says 1t won't
make no difference, for she's bound to 60 OH
some oueerer road than other folks not being
a right child" r,
magnifying glass in his hand from haoit, ana
he tapped his forehead with IT, "ora'hs-
eh?"
ABRAMS. sir! She's got brains enough Tor
two. But she's what the old folk hereabout
call a fairy changeling-such q wien bt OF q
thing she's always been. III fetch her on Inc
rocks. sir, or she'll get drownded. we all
know Miss Fay, sir-see her laughing and
dancing now to frighten me, the lnischlet!'
The lighthouse man, tread1ng the rocks
nimby, brought her to shore.
"What were you doing out there-ehV' Old
| Peter Stoneby asked sternly, in a big voice
mufled in beard. The venturesome eli seemed
10 be well cared for. She was clad IN dark
blue, with q three-cornered glimpse OF q wnlte
vest showing where the loose jacket parted at
her neck, and there were gilt anchors on the
blue ribbons flying behind her broad straw
hat. Stoncby thought of another girl, a little
older than she. whom he might see by chance
at ~Grnylournc-a ~threadbarc, ragged girl OF
- r. L.. .1.11 nxn r. NUN nc hiS Or0 nd,
child.
"Wbat were you doing, Miss Fay? Tell the
gentleman" the lighthouse man urged. He
was un old friend, and her shyness melted.
She looked up. 1t was q face untouched by
sunburn, and too de]icately fine and thin for
a small creature of u or z. There was
something wonderfully piquant about the
large, dark fringed eyes and the little mouth
| and pointed chin; something in her shy smile
| that reminded ono of a flicker of light on a
waxen face. II was a mermaid" said she.
"Tbree sham mermaids live in a sham cave
| under tina rock. l danced when they went
| out ever SO far to the bright water, where the
sun is; they always dance there" The child
suddenly realized that the stranger was listen
ing. She turned her head away; the curls
blew across her cheek and it flushed with a
pink like the dawn.
"How old are you, you young fairy danccr!"
allow old are you, Miss Fay" echoed the
lighthouse man. She looked hardly z.
"l'm g." she said, without looking up, but
trying to stretch her thin legs taller.
"She's a fairy, sir; isn't she!" laughed the
man, with his hands in his pocket. "My old
woman's abou right"
Mr.. Stoneby was not listening. He was
looking hard at Fay. Fay on her part was
only attending to the pattern of the threads
in Mr.. Stoneby's coat. as seen through the
round glass in his hand. A nervous CULVER
panied the stranger; it was a relief not to SEQ
her in rags, but it was pain to recognize his
own daughters look in this face, so new in
the world.
|. "What's your name?"-an abrupt word in a
gentle tone.
Fay West"
"Go home," said the stranger, and tell
your mother that I have come and l I'm stay
ing at Stokes hotel"
The Lighthouse man stared. Fay looked up
with big, wondering eyes. Peter Stoneby
turned from them with his bearded head bent
and his footprints deep in the sand, and he
walked his own way alone.
His daughter, Carrie West-how be hated
the name of West!-was already awaiting
for him at his hotel, and when he returned he
found her there, pale, gentle, atfectionate, ex-
c~essively nervous.
"Now, father" she said at parting, "ths
room in the cottage is ready for you. Come
and stay with John and me-"
Peter Stoneby's face seemed to shorten
when it REDEEMED with anger. 1t was an old
sign that his daughter remembered since she
had last seen him ten years age His lower
lip was dragged up, and the gray beard stuck
ont and lessened the length of that hairy.
weather-worn face. "Don't name him to
me" he said. ~ can better afford to pay my
hotel bills than-than he-can afford to en-
terrain q stranger-a stranger to him."
She pressed and entreated. Why would he
not forgive, why not take the great sorrow
away from her lifes John was such a good
husband, such a good father, and really the
cottage was coy, and the boat building trade
-,
"Don't talk nonsense, child" said the old !
man, opening the door of the parlor hotel to :
hint that it was better to be gone before they
quarreled again. His voice was the sullen /
prelude to a storm. II did not come to Gray I
bourne to see him." /
"But you anne to see me. Dear father, let =.
IS be at peace again. Come and see us, any
1Ow-tO-mOrrow-do." 7
Il came to Graybourne to fill a seaside her. \
'arium growled the testy old botanist. And "
as it was ten years since he had seen this
'weet, blue-eyed daughter, was it any 8
Wonder that he had felt a particular u
lankering after the seaside flora of GRAY T
,ourne. q
Every day Mrs. West left the handsome s
louse that was called "The Cottage" near the
h1rS1dSor yynrc1 1r1,o,,o H. oS-. - w. d
7as on the cart gates, every afternoon and $
vening she and her child were at Stokes ho- II L
Ell. The reunion of father and daughter was .
but she did not venture to mention ~
er husbands name. John West himself had H
t first joined with his wife in preparing to s.
eceive the old man on the good principle "A
nat bygones should be bygones. But when !
lr. Stoneby never came to the cottage and
ven ignored John Vests existence. John
Vest in return ignored Mr.. Stoneby's pres
ace in the town. He pretended not to know
here his wife and little Fay went. He spoke -
other things when they came back. It was
asslve. resentment, but strong as iron; the
me for reconciliation had gone by. If his II
had refused to come near his b'
the door was closed against him
'rever now John West lighted his pipe and OF
.untered into the building yard to see his tV
en- dlsperse; he made up his mind to be as w
'oud as old Stcneby, but he was too fond of 81
arrie to hurt her with a word. to
Meanwhile little Fay had wound herself r.
'out her grandfather's heart. He could not Ia
fuse her when she climbed his knee and laid N,
soft cheek against his beard. In
And where are You off to now, :Fayw 81
the sea-" said Fay. 40 the sea. s.
onder do the fairies ever 60 down to the tic
I'm going to dabble for little
AZ
Peter Stoneby was laying bis specimens in W.
press to dry, and be hardly attended to
r prattle. A little later he was cut to the s6
art to think how he had let her 20. a
Alone on the beach the child was last soon ha
the people of the town. Alone she stood 81
the slippery green rock, with her wild ]
KS and her little sailor dress all blowing in VIC
!. wind. She was listening to the great me-
zee OF the waters. Her face was as white cit
the foam of the waves rushing in, and her ISL
&C. watching eyes had a far-away look, as wa
.hA - ~