accept my escort; should they tell her I would call for her at ten
o'clock, sharp, on Saturday morning?

There was no refusing under the circumstances, and I said "yes" with
the same gaiety with which I would have signed my own death-warrant.
Yet I wanted to go to the picnic, dreadfully; and of all the young
ladies in Babbletown I preferred Belle Marigold. She was the
handsomest and most stylish girl in the county. Her eyes were large,
black, and mischievous; her mouth like a rose; she dressed prettily,
and had an elegant little way of tossing back her dark ringlets that
was fascinating even at first sight. I was told my doom on Thursday
afternoon, and do not think I slept any that or Friday night--am
positive I did not Saturday night. I wanted to go and I wanted to take
that particular girl, yet I was in a cold sweat at the idea. I would
have given five dollars to be let off, and I wouldn't have taken
fifteen for my chance to go. I asked father if I could have the horse
and buggy, and if he would tend store. I hoped he would say No; but
when he said Yes, I was delighted.

"I'll take the opportunity when you are at the picnic to get the
accounts out of the quirks you've got 'em into," said he.

Well, Saturday came. As I opened my eyes my heart jumped into my
throat. "I've got to go through with it now if it kills me," I
thought.

Mother asked me why I ate no breakfast.

"Saving my appetite for the picnic," I responded, cheerfully; which
was one of the white lies my miserable bashfulness made me tell every
day of my life--I knew that I should go dinner-less at the picnic
unless I could get behind a tree with my plate of goodies.

I never to this day can abide to eat before strangers; things _always_
go by my windpipe instead of my aesophagus, and I'm tired to death of
scalding my legs with hot tea, to say nothing of adding to one's
embarrassment to have people asking if one has burned oneself, and
feeling that one has broken a cup out of a lady's best china tea-set.
But about tea and tea-parties I shall have more to say hereafter. I
must hurry on to my first picnic, where I made my first public
appearance as the Bashful Man.

I made a neat toilet--a fresh, light summer suit that I flattered
myself beat any other set of clothes in Babbletown--ordered Joe, our
chore-boy, to bring the buggy around in good order, with everything
shining; and when he had done so, had the horse tied in front of the
store.

"Come, my