"
He made his landing, sprang to the shore and led her to the boat with
the air of one who was not in the habit of being refused. Abby had no
inclination to suppress him. She stepped lightly into the boat, and a
moment later was gliding down the lake, looking with admiring eyes on
the strong young figure in its sweater and white trousers. A
yachting-cap was pulled over his blue eyes. His face was bronzed. Abby
wondered if many young men were as handsome as he. As a matter of fact,
he was merely a fine specimen of young American manhood, whose charm lay
in his frank manner and kindness of heart.
"Like this?" he asked, smiling into her eyes.
"Yes, indeed. Hiram used to row us sometimes; but the boat lurched so
when he lost his temper that I was in constant fear of being tipped
over."
"Hiram must have been a terror to cats."
"A what?"
"Beg pardon! Of course you don't know much slang. Beastly habit."
He rowed up and down the lake many times, floating idly in the long
recesses where the willows met overhead. He talked constantly; told her
yarns of his college life; described boat-races and football matches in
which he had taken part. At first his only impulse was to amuse the
lonely old maid; but she proved such a delighted and sympathetic
listener that he forgot to pity her.
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