“I say, we’re a couple of lucky dogs!  Who’d have thought now, aw, that our summer was going to turn out so well?  I’m sure I didn’t.  How do you get along, Charley, boy?”

“Deliciously.  Smooth sailing enough.  Wasn’t it a good idea, though, to pair off?  I’m just as happy as a bee in clover.  You seem to prosper, too, heh?”

“Couldn’t ask anything different.  Nothing but devotion, and all that.  I’m delighted.  I say, when are you going to pop?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  It is only a matter of form.  Sooner the better, I suppose, and have it over.”

“I was thinking of next week.  What do you say to a quiet picnic down on the rocks, and a walk afterwards?  We can separate, you know, and do the thing up systematically.”

“All right.  I will, if you will.”

“That’s another bargain.  I notice there isn’t much doubt about the results.”

“Hardly!”

A close observer might have seen that the gentlemen increased their attentions a little from time to time.  The objects of their devotion perceived it, and smiled more and more graciously upon them.

The day set for the picnic arrived duly, and was radiant.  It pains me to confess that my heroes were a trifle nervous.  Their apparel was more gorgeous and wonderful than ever, and Thomas, who was anxious to be off courting Miss Chapman’s lady’s-maid, found his masters dreadfully exacting in the matter of hair-dressing.  At length, however, the toilet was over, and “Solomon in all his glory” would have been vastly astonished at finding himself “arrayed as one of these.”

The boat lay at the pier, receiving large quantities of supplies for the trip, stowed by Thomas, under the supervision of the grim and tarry skipper.  When all was ready the young men gingerly escorted their fair companions aboard, the lines were cast off, and the boat glided gently down the bay, leaving Thomas free to fly to the smart presence of Susan Jane and to draw glowing pictures for her of a neat little porter-house in the city, wherein they should hold supreme sway, be happy with each other, and let rooms up-stairs for single gentlemen.

The brisk land breeze swelling the sail, the fluttering of the gay little flag at the gaff, the musical rippling of water under the counter, and the spirited motion of the boat combined, with the bland air and pleasant sunshine, to inspire the party with much vivacity.  They had not been many minutes afloat before the guitar-case was opened, and the girls’ voices—­Laura’s soprano and Hattie’s contralto—­rang melodiously over the waves, mingled with feeble attempt at bass accompaniment from their gorgeous guardians.

Before these vocal exercises wearied, the skipper hauled down his jib, let go his anchor, and brought the craft to just off the rocks; and bringing the yawl alongside, unceremoniously plucked the girls down into it, without giving their cavaliers a chance for the least display of agile courtliness.  Rowing ashore, this same tarry person left them huddled upon the beach, with their hopes, their hampers, their emotions, and their baskets, and returned to the vessel to do a little private fishing on his own account till wanted.