The Argosy — page 245: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

228 A Story of the Sea-shore. Reece was still there; but she ran up to her chamber without speak- ing to him. The stranger meanwhile reached the landing-place close by, and resigned the skiff to the young fisherman from whom he had hired it, Peter Janes, the widow Janes’ son. ‘‘Who was that young lady seated in a boat there as I passed ?” he enquired. ‘‘ Yonder she is now, running swiftly along the plage —or whatever you call it.” Peter, a civil, pleasant young fellow, turned his head. “That! Oh, that be Miss Serena, old Moncton’s girl,” he said. ‘And who is ‘old Moncton’?” continued the stranger with 2 smile. ‘He be one of us fishermen, sir.” “‘ Indeed /” cried the gentleman in a tone of surprise. “She looks like a lady.” Gre | 4 ‘Well, and we call her half a lady, sir; she baint altogether like one of our fisher-girls,”. returned Peter. ‘‘ Her father have got about the best boat in the place, and four or five men in it—with a mate to overlook ’em, in case he don’t always care to go out hisself.” With the morning, Serena was out early, and strolled to the beach again. She had been restless all night, and craved for the fresh free breezes of the sea. Barely had she stood a minute, facing it, her straw hat shading her brow, when the sound of foot- steps caused her to turn her head. Coming towards her on the white sands, was Peter Janes, the handsome stranger by his side. ‘Good morning, Miss Serena,” cried Peter’s cheery voice. “Oh, good morning, Peter,” she returned, a deep blush rising to her face, for those blue eyes were again fixed upon it. = “Introduce me—tell her who I am,” whispered the stranger im- peratively to Peter. And Peter obeyed, but did it sheepishly. ‘‘This be Mr. Ernest Loraine, son to Mr. Loraine, what be stop- ping down yonder at the hotel, Miss Serena. He asked me to tell ou.” ° : ‘‘T beg your pardon, Miss Serena, but my friend Peter has not told you correctly,” spoke the stranger, laughingly making the best of the awkward words. ‘‘ I am Ernest Loraine, it is true, but I am — not Mr. Loraine’s son; only his nephew.” And he ventured to touch the slender hand and bow over it; and once again Serena felt herself blushing like a carnation under the ardent gaze of those wonderful eyes, blue as the sky above them. ‘“You’ll find the skiff all ready, sir,” cried Peter, who was sting out fishing with his mates and could not linger. ‘ You’ve only just to unhook it from the post when you go off, and fasten it when you > come in again.” ** All right; and thank you, Peter,” cried Mr. Ernest Loraine. Peter went off whistling. Mr. Loraine stopped talking to Serena, apparently regardless of the waiting skiff. Serena, on her par Eomicbooks.com