'Timothy! that is Mehalah!' exclaimed Phoebe Musset. She was in the boat with Admonition's cousin. 'I'd rather you carried me. I do not want to be obliged to her for anything.'
Mehalah stepped from her boat upon the turf, and held out her hand mechanically to assist the girl.
'Don't hold out your hand to me!' screamed Phoebe. 'I wouldn't touch it. Keep to yourself, if you please, and let me pass.'
'Why, Phoebe!' exclaimed Timothy, 'what is the matter? I have come here to see this girl.'
'What!—to see Mehalah—or Glory, as you sailor and fisher fellows like to call her?'
'Yes.'
'Then I'm ashamed to have come with you,' said Phoebe, pouting. 'You offered me a nice little row on the water, and the sun was so bright, and the air so warm, and you were so agreeable, that I ventured; but I would not have stepped into the boat had I known you were coming to visit another young woman, and she one of so smirched a character.'
'Phoebe! For shame!'
'For shame!' repeated the girl turning on Timothy. 'For shame to you, to bring me here with you when you are visiting this——' She eyed Mehalah from head to foot with studied insolence, and sniffed. 'I know her. A bad, spiteful cat! always running after fellows. She tried to wheedle poor George De Witt into marrying her. When he was lost, she burnt her house and flung herself on the mercy, into the arms, of Rebow. Now, I suppose, she is setting her red cap at you. Oh! where is the cap gone, eh?' turning to Mehalah as she skipped ashore.
Timothy was fastening the boat to that of Dowsing.