a plank platform ran out from the land, and a cunning little boat, with
white sails, lay dipping up and down like a duck in the water.

Sisters, I'm not timersome, but getting into a boat that rocks like a
cradle in the water tries me, I must own to that. With what holding on
and keeping your dress well down upon the ankles, one is seized with a
sense of being awfully unsteady. This riles up the constitution to a
state of dizziness that makes your ears buz like a bumblebee's nest.

I was thankful to get seated at last, and, tucking up my dress, prepared
at once for a long sea-voyage. E. E. had slung a great straw gypsy hat
on her arm, by the strings, when she left Long Branch, which she bent
down over her head like an umbrella with herself for a handle; over that
she spread a broad yellow parasol that blazed in the hot air like a
great sunflower.

"Phoemie," says she, a-looking up from under her straw tent, "didn't
you bring a flat?"

"No," says I; "the young fellows of that stamp didn't happen to be about
when we started."

"Dear me! you'll burn your face up," says she; "that beehive is no
protection."

"About as much as one of your York flats would be," says I. "But
supposing I hoist my parasol, too--one don't need a beau for that."

The sun was pouring down like blazes, and I was mighty glad to spread my
parasol, I can tell you; so I did it, and settled down on the same bench
with E. E.

Dempster had been awful busy on shore, pulling out fish-lines, looking
up nets that swung like a great hang-bird's nest, on the end of a pole:
and now he was on his knees, hacking a fish into chunks, which he tied
to a line and dropped into the bottom of the boat. At last he lifted his
great straw hat, wiped the blazing warmth from his face, and jumped in.

CHAPTER XCIII.

NETTING CRABS.

Oh, sisters! judge of my feelings, when directly after Dempster, came a
splendid gentleman--a creature of romance, shaded from the vulgar gaze
by a felt hat, and dressed like a mariner along-shore. He lifted his hat
to me, and also to E. E.--with a lofty reservation in her case.

"Mr. Burke," says Dempster, with a degree of carelessness that, I am
sorry to say, is characteristic--"he will teach you how to catch the
creatures; for there is an art in it."

"Then I shall never succeed," says I, in a low, gentle tone of voice.
"Where anything but pure nature is expected, I must always keep in the
shade. You know, Cousin E. E., w