Miss Lybrand then rose hastily, and proposed to her immediate companions a walk farther into the woods; and Myrtilla, leaving the vicinity of Mr. Smith, came forward and joined them: her friends making a private signal to her not to invite the aforesaid gentleman to accompany them.
Aunt Quimby saw them depart, and looking round said—"Why, Mr. Smith—have the girls given you the slip? But to be sure, they meant you to follow them!"
Mr. Smith signified that he had not courage to do so without an invitation, and that he feared he had already been tiring Miss Cheston.
"Pho, pho," said Mrs. Quimby, "you are quite too humble. Pluck up a little spirit, and run after the girls."
"I believe," replied he, "I cannot take such a liberty."
"Then I'll call Captain Cheston to introduce you to some more gentlemen. Here—Bromley—"
"No—no," said Mr. Smith, stopping her apprehensively; "I would rather not intrude any farther upon his kindness."
"I declare you are the shame-facedest man I ever saw in my life. Well, then, you can walk about, and look at the trees and bushes. There's a fine large buttonwood, and there's a sassafras; or you can go to the edge of the bank and look at the river and watch how the tide goes down and leaves the splatter-docks standing in the mud. See how thick they are at low water—I wonder if you couldn't count them. And may be you'll see a wood-shallop pass along, or may be a coal-barge. And who knows but a sturgeon may jump out of the water, and turn head over heels and back again—it's quite a handsome sight!"
Good Mr. Smith did as he was bidden, and walked about and looked at things, and probably counted the splatter-docks, and perhaps saw a fish jump.
"It's all bashfulness—nothing in the world but bashfulness," pursued Mrs. Quimby; "that's the only reason Mr. Smith don't talk."