The manly art of wagoning is not pursued vigorously at Brant Beach. The roads are too heavy back from the water, and the drive is confined to a narrow strip of wet sand along the shore; so carriages are few, and the pony-chaise became a distinguished element at once. Salsbury and Burnham whirled past it in their light trotting-wagons at a furious pace, and looked hard at the two young ladies in passing, but without eliciting even the smallest glance from them in return.
"Confounded distingué-looking girls, and all that," owned Ned, "but, aw, fearfully unconscious of a fellow!"
This condition of matters continued until the young men were actually driven to acknowledge to each other that they should not mind knowing the occupants of the pony carriage. It was a great concession, and was rewarded duly. A bright, handsome boy of seventeen, Miss Thurston's brother, came to pass a few days at the seaside, and fraternized with everybody, but was especially delighted with Ned Salsbury, who took him out sailing and shooting, and, I am afraid, gave him cigars stealthily, when out of range of Miss Thurston's fine eyes. The result was that the first time the lad walked on the beach with the two girls and met the young man, introductions of an enthusiastic nature were instantly sprung upon them. An attempt at conversation followed.
"How do you like Brant Beach?" asked Ned.
"Oh, it is a very pretty place," said Miss Chapman, "but not lively enough."
"Well, Burnham and I find it pleasant; aw, we have lots of fun."
"Indeed! Why, what do you do?"
"Oh, I don't know. Everything."
"Is the shooting good? I saw you with your guns yesterday."
"Well, there isn't a great deal of game. There is some fishing, but we haven't caught much."