The Mt. Sterling advocate. (Mt. Sterling, Ky.) 1890-current, 1895-01-15
BLUE EYED GRASS.

1t grew all about on the highlands
springing up in patches among the
coarse sea grasses. The ground was
covered with gray lichen, thick and
soft as velvet, and it was wonderful
how such delicate little thing found
O foothold. 1t had two neighbors as
bright and beautiful as itself-the
golden aster and the dainty field rose
but they had strong, stiff stems
and would thrust the ichen aside or
pierce it, How the blue eyed grass
managed no one knew, but it came
up every year and lifted its flower
stars to the light and surprised the
people who had not seen it before
very greatly, for no one expected to
find light blue flower larger than
a forgetmenot upon a grass plant.
Down at the East Chop lighthouse
patch of it came up every year
just outside the white palings which
limited the lighthouse keepers gar
den. The keeper, "Cap'n" Symes,
had lived there nearly SO years. He
did not tend light now. He had not
done so since his SEVENTEEN birth
day, when he retired on a pension,
and his nephew was appointed in his
place. He sat in his garden on fine
afternoons and evenings, looking
over the broad bay, or haven, as it
is called, toward the twin light upon
the West Chop until the air grew
chill and he began to cough. when
he reluctantly suffered his niece to
remove his large stuffed rocker in.
doors.
On these fine evenings the captain
loved to talk to the saunterers. Some
came from the cottages scattered
over the highlands to look at the
light and express their gracious ap-
prova1 of what they were profound
" ignorant of. Others We're mere
idlers, for whom the sea and sky suf.
feed, and these listened better. A
good listener is born, not made, and
does not belong to the executive
classes. He has all time for his own.
What ideal listeners Sam Lawson
and Rip Van Wrinkle must have
been! Without setting up q rival
claim to these worthless, myself
have very pretty talent for idle
listening, and I like to hear the
drone of an old voice as I like the
wind through the pines. How sea-
soned and, so to speak, time stained
old voices become, and how they re-
veal the key to which the soul is
tuned! The captain had possessed a
deep, full organ. 1t was gone, but
remnant of its whole soulness was
yet to be recognized, and he loved
to talk, especially Of himself and his
adventures. These things to hear
did I most seriously incline, and
many long afternoons he talked
away, while l sat smoking by his
side or pulling the flowers to pieces
under the pretext of botanizing. 1t
was on one of these long afternoons
that he told me the story of the blue
eyed grass. had bunch of it in
my hand as ! turned in at the gate,
and the captain noticed it immedi-
ately.
odd you ever think what them
looked like?" he asked.
NO." said tentatively, II don't
know that / ever did. never saw
it before this week. 1t came all in
few days, and it is already in fruit.
1t will not last long"
WAL" he said slowly, "if you
he'd lived with it for years, you'd
sec it was just like the eyes of chill.
dren--little children who hadn't
lived long enough to lose the color
out of 'em--that color like the sky
out there"
He pointed to the sky over the
water, clear, delicate blue sky,
such as June loves, and I recognized
that the flower in my hand was of
exactly the same hue.
sid never have thought of it,
though, he went on, "if it hadn't
been for Mile. ! never see it now
without seeing her little face as I
saw it the first time and the last.
There was not much difference, only
the last time the gold was thicker in