over her shoulders, covering her bosom, she was irresistible. So at least De Witt found her, for he was obliged to climb the gig, seat himself beside her, and assume the reins.
"I am not much of a steersman in a craft like this," said George laughing, "but my hand is stronger than yours, and I can save you from wreck."
Phœbe looked slyly round, and her great blue eyes peeped timidly up in the fisherman's face. "Thank you so much, George. I shall never, never forget your great kindness."
"There's nothing in it," said the blunt fisherman; "I'd do the same for any girl."
"I know how polite you are," continued Phœbe; then putting her hand on the reins, "I don't think you need drive quite so fast, George; I don't want to get the horse hot, or Isaac will scold."
"A jog trot like this will hurt no horse."
"Perhaps you want to get back. I am sorry I have taken you away. Of course you have pressing business. No doubt you want to get to the Ray," A little twinkling sly look up accompanied this speech. De Witt waxed red.
"I'm in no hurry, myself," he said.
"How delightful, George! nor am I."
The young man could not resist stealing a glance at the little figure beside him, so neat, so trim, so fresh. He was a humble fellow, and never dreamed himself to be on a level with such a refined damsel. Glory was the girl for him, rough and ready, who could row a boat and wade in the mud. He loved Glory. She was a sturdy girl, a splendid girl, he said to himself. Phœbe was altogether different, she belonged to another sphere, he could but look and admire—and worship perhaps. She dazzled him, but he could not love her. She was none of his sort, he said to himself.
"A penny for your thoughts!" said Phœbe roguishly. He coloured, "I know what you were thinking of. You were thinking of me."
De Witt's colour deepened. "I was sure it was so. Now I insist on knowing what you were thinking of me."
"Why" answered George with a clumsy effort at gallantry, "I thought what a beauty you were."
