ung man whose father had once sent him for a term to a
neighbouring seminary, as a result of which classical experience he still
retained a certain jaunty student air verging on the rakish, that was
admired by the girls and envied by the young men.

And there, above all, was Tom Longman. Tom was a big, hulking fellow,
good-natured and simple-hearted in the extreme. He was the victim of an
intense susceptibility to the girls' charms, joined with an intolerable
shyness and self-consciousness when in their presence. From this
consuming embarrassment he would seek relief by working like a horse
whenever there was anything to do. With his hands occupied he had an
excuse for not talking to the girls or being addressed by them, and, thus
shielded from the, direct rays of their society, basked with
inexpressible emotions in the general atmosphere of sweetness and light
which they diffused. He liked picnics because there was much work to do,
and never attended indoor parties because there was none. This inordinate
taste for industry in connection with social enjoyment on Tom's part was
strongly encouraged by the other young men, and they were the ones who
always stipulated that he should be of the party when there was likely to
be any call for rowing, taking care of horses, carrying of loads, putting
out of croquet sets, or other manual exertion. He was generally an odd
one in such companies. It would be no kindness to provide him a partner,
and, besides, everybody made so many jokes about him that none of the
girls quite cared to have their names coupled with his, although they all
had a compassionate liking for him.

On the present occasion this poor slave of the petticoat had been at work
preparing the boats all the morning.

"Why, how nicely you have arranged everything!" said Madeline kindly, as
she stood on the sand waiting for Henry to bring up a boat.

"What?" replied Tom, laughing in a flustered way.

He always laughed just so and said "what?" when any of the girls spoke to
him, being too much confused by the fact of being addressed to catch what
was said the first time.

"It's very good of you to arrange the boats for us, Madeline repeated.

"Oh, 'tain't anything, 'tain't anything at all," he blurted out, with a
very red face.

"You are going up in our boat, ain't you, Longman?" said Harry Tuttle.

"No, Tom, you're going with us," cried another young man.

"He's going with us, like a sensible fellow," said Wi